My pen name should be a tip-off, but don't expect completely plausible circumstances in my stories. If you can let go of your inhibitions and nagging sense of 'could that really happen', then you might just like my stories. They're all about heat, pure and simple.
Please do vote/comment when you finish. That's what makes all the typing worthwhile.
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Helen was a little surprised when the doorbell rang at precisely nine a.m., exactly when the contractor had told her that the workers would arrive to build her new deck. She was even more surprised when she opened the door and saw two young men who couldn't be more than twenty years old.
"Helen Flint?" One of the sandy-haired young men asked.
"Yes," she answered, doing her best not to stare at the muscular workmen.
"Just making sure we're at the right place. I'm Mike, and this is Ron. We'll get around back and get started. We've put up about three of these the last couple of weeks, so we've got it down. Should be done by late afternoon."
"That's perfect," Helen responded, still fighting against her wandering eyes and thinking,
Speaking of perfect...
The two, nearly identical young men turned and walked back to their truck. Helen hesitated before she closed the door, her eyes locked on their butts. She shivered and let out a hungry little moan after closing the door. Having anticipated overweight men showing plumber's crack all day, she was more than pleasantly surprised by reality.
With the kids gone to her ex-husband's house for the week, Helen planned to enjoy her first day of vacation. Shortly after sitting down to watch her soaps, she heard the tools starting in the back yard. A satisfied smile spread across her face, because she knew that by this evening, she would have a deck that one-upped the one that her snotty neighbors refused to shut up about.
A little over an hour later, Helen headed to the kitchen for a drink. She passed a window on the way to the cabinet, and froze in her tracks.
Helen's nipples stiffened and she blew out a long, slow, whistling breath. Both of the blond men were hard at work, their shirts hanging from the side mirror of their truck. She had to resist the urge to lick her lips as she drank them in. Both had six-packs, and sparse body hair — just a little triangle between their rippling pecs and a trail pointing from their navels to their tight jeans.
She couldn't resist taking a long look at their jeans, either — or rather the large bulges in them. When one of the men turned her way, she quickly stepped away from the window so that they wouldn't see her staring at them like a horny teenager. That was exactly how she felt, though. She hadn't even been on a date in months, let alone had sex.
Her glass of water in hand, Helen couldn't resist one more quick peek as she passed the window. Once again, she shivered as a chilly tingle shot through her from between her legs. Daydreams about the shirtless men kept her from really seeing anything on the television for the next half hour or so, and she eventually turned it off.
Helen picked up the phone to order something to eat, but saw the low battery indicator flashing. With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, she took the handset back to the charger and went to the bedroom to fetch the other phone. As she walked past the bathroom, she passed through a curtain of warm air.
Forgot to close the window,
she realized, having opened all the windows on the back of the house the night before to let in the cool evening air. She walked into the bathroom to close it, but stopped and cocked her ear toward the window when she heard the workers in the back yard talking. They were talking quietly, but standing near enough to the open window that she could hear every word.
"How old do you think she is?"
"Maybe thirty. Shocked the hell out of me when she opened the door. Thought this was an old-folks neighborhood."
Helen couldn't help but smile at that, as any woman of thirty-five would.
"Swing set. That means kids, and that means..."
Both young men finished the sentence simultaneously, "MILF." They shared a laugh.
"She's got great tits. And that fucking ass in those jeans?"
"Bam! I would hit that like a prize-fighter."
"Yeah, but who goes first?"
"Flip a coin. Who gives a fuck? I'd take sloppy seconds for a piece of that ass."
Helen stood listening, her breathing heavy and her fingers pressed hard against the denim between her legs. Her fantasies took on a whole new dimension.
Could she?
Would they?
The thought of being with both of them had her flowing like a river. As quickly as the thought formed in her head, she popped open two buttons on her blouse, took off her bra, and dropped it on the bathroom floor. A quick glance in the mirror showed her that her stiff nipples were poking at the cloth.
I can't believe I'm doing this,
she thought, but she couldn't resist the intense arousal. She ran a brush through her brown curls, checked her makeup, and headed for the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she opened the sliding glass door and held up a tray when the two men turned toward her. "It's awfully hot out here. I thought you might like some ice cold lemonade."
"Cool. Thanks," Mike said, and then walked over to take the tray.
Though they tried to hide it, Helen was watching for the young men to take note of her hard nipples and bared cleavage. They'd noticed, and shared a quick smile as Mike carried the tray over to the patio table.
"Just let me know if you run out," Helen offered with a smile and a coquettish, finger-wiggling wave. She could see them whispering to each other even before the door slid completely closed.
Helen felt wonderfully alive. She knew that they were only thinking of her as a sex object, but she didn't care. New excuses to tempt them flashed through her head, and she soon settled on one. She stopped in the bathroom on the way to her bedroom, but pouted when she couldn't overhear them saying anything about her. They were too far from the window.
In the bedroom, she filled a laundry basket with her sexiest panties, skimpy nightgowns, and even a lacy bustier that she'd only worn once for her ex-husband. She considered adding the garters and stockings, but thought that might be a bit too much. These she ran through a quick wash, just long enough to get them wet and spin them out. Everything went back in the basket, and she headed for the back door once more.
"Do you think you could help me down? It's quite a drop with the porch gone."
"Sure thing," Ron answered. He picked up one of the small patio tables, and Helen nearly swooned when he flexed his muscles — obviously overdoing it for her benefit. He carried it over, placed it beneath the door, and then offered her a hand to steady her as she descended.
"Thank you," Helen said once she reached the ground.
