Bad Mommy

By INtrinSicliValud

 

 

 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

 

 

Copyright © 2023 INtrinSicliValud

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: intrinsiclivalud100@yahoo.com

 

Contents

Bad Mommy

More Bad Mommy

Bad Mommies

Bad Mommy Uncovered

Bad Mommy Captured

Bad Mommy Revealed

Bad Mommy Watched

Bad Mommy Shattered

Epilogue

 

Bad Mommy

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper while freezing in place.

At the restart of snoring, I relax and again ease over the tangle of glistening, muscled bodies sprawled across the waterbed. Already raw from the long drive to the beach house and the even longer night, I don’t need any of the hungry young studs waking. With tremors continuing to thunder through me, I creep across the carpet.

After making it into the bathroom and easing the door shut, I peel sticky long dark hair from my face while clinging to the countertop. At my both wide-eyed and exhausted expression, I gulp. Which is a mistake. Slicing pain erupts and my clenching fingers scramble around in the medicine cabinet for pain meds.

“Boys,” I murmur while glaring at the closed door.

Then giggle before downing the pills with what’s left in a beer bottle on the counter. I can remember the day, no, the instant it all began. It wasn’t that long ago.

____

 

It had been the beginning of summer. Although the first weekend had been stormy, that second Saturday offered a glorious blue sky. A scorching sun sent shimmers across our rear patio’s blinding white concrete. The pool’s surface glittered with every splash as the boys played.

I guess I shouldn’t call them boys. Young men, more like. My son Davey and the rest of his high school varsity football buddies had started early. By the afternoon, with beer flowing and marijuana in the air, they were quite raucous. With music blaring and a few of their girlfriends over as well, the party was really roaring. I was glad our nearest neighbor lived a half-mile down the winding road.

Oh, and I can hear the strident grumbling about underage drinking and gateway drugs. I’d done much worse at their age. Nor would I let any of them drive home drunk or high. And as far as several girls being topless and a few bottomless, like I said, we were pretty isolated. All in good fun. No harm, no foul.

Anyway, as was often the case, I was bored.

While keeping half an eye on the revelry through the wide kitchen window, I was leaning on the counter reading a trashy and very steamy romance novel. Sure, I’d dressed in a cute little tennis skirt and tight white top. Catching a few appraising glances from the younger and admittedly good-looking guys was only harmless fun. But by then I was far more focused on the sexy smut, not them. So, with a third tall mug of coffee, containing more bourbon than the last, half-full in one hand, my other was twisting the shit out of my hair.

Poor innocent little farm girl, Ellie, was going to be taken by a bad, bad rich boy, Marcus. As her skirt tore apart in his enormous mitts, the story was getting hotter by the second. With me leaning closer to my tablet, I shifted my legs wider, hoping to keep my soaking panties from bursting into flames. I’d just looked up to scan the crowded pool, trying to decide if I should risk a quick dash upstairs to finger myself, when the rear door shoved wide.

It was Hank. Now, I’d never thought much about my son’s friends, but at that split second, as aroused as I was, there was no way to avoid it. I gave his towering, muscled frame a longer glance than appropriate. But he was looking past me and I didn’t think he’d noticed.

“Uh, sorry, Mrs. Fisher.” His voice was slurred and, although invisible, a cloud of burned hemp flowed in with him. “Um, can I use the bathroom?”

“Yeah, sure, hon. You know where it is.”

And right then, everything returned to normal. As I leaned back to read about Marcus tearing frilly lace undies from screaming Ellie, the handsome, beefy Hank dashed.

Except, at that precise moment, the universe entered the fray.

Instead of going around the kitchen and staying on the carpet, he chose to cut through. Oh, he’d dried his feet, but he was a boy. And drunk. Oh, and more than a little high. Which meant he hadn’t done it very well. And the tile was slick.

Right as Marcus thrust into Ellie, Hank’s abrupt yelp echoed in the farthest corner of my distracted mind. At the sudden slap of long, thick fingers on my hip, I jerked, almost spilling the mug. With his damp soles squeaking, he spun behind me.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.”

At his solid pelvis mashing into my ass, just as Ellie moaned, so did I. Hank froze. Well, most of him. The meaty flesh shoving into my cheeks surged with heat. That pulled a second moan from me as I continued swaying forward under the sudden thrust.

The first hand on my hip was an accident to regain his balance. The other one’s slower landing was not. Nor was my abrupt shove back into him. It was primal. Only a reaction, nothing more. But he held me and damned if I didn’t stay in place as time slowed.

Every sound but the pounding of my heart disappeared into a mushy murk. Scented with weed and alcohol, his rapid, heated breath pounded along my back. Beneath me, his pulse also pounded right where, after poor Ellie and hungry Marcus, I was most sensitive.

At last, when Hank gulped and shifted his fingers, I looked over my shoulder at him. With his cheeks bright red and brilliant blue eyes wide, he swept his gaze over my spine to find mine.

“Mmm. You’re making me wet, Hank.”

“W-what?” He peered at where his taut pelvis was tight to me.

“Your trunks, Hank. From the pool. My skirt.”

Of course, when he met my gaze again, we both knew the fat head of his cock was pulsing against a whole different and much, much warmer wetness.

“Uh, sorry.” He flashed me a nervous, but pretty, grin.

When his grip loosened, I readied to lift from the counter. But with a groan, his fingers clenched, and Hank thrust forward, pushing his hardness against my soaked panties. Despite that pulling a third moan from me, I narrowed my brows while huffing.

“You’re a—a real MILF, Mrs. Fisher.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Boys. Subtle they are not. Especially not when drunk and stoned.

“That’s awful flattering, Hank. But, um, I’m married”—I lifted my wiggling fingers to display my wedding band—“and your girlfriend, or girlfriends if the rumors are true, wouldn’t be too happy either, correct?”

And right there, just as he nodded and his hands relaxed, the universe decided to double down. The door flung open again to admit Dione “Bull” Kingsley. As his eyes flew wide, his massive feet squealed to a halt.

Taller, even more built than Hank, oh, and black as coal, he didn’t know where to look. My shocked face? Hank’s similar expression? Or where we were attached by Hank’s hands and, from Bull’s angle, the pulsing shaft under me?

Likewise, my gaze roamed him. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Hank was all kinds of handsome, but Bull was positively dreamy. Wow, his emerald eyes glimmered. He was a goddamned mountain of dark, rippling muscle with an easy smile that was widening as he scanned me. And God Almighty, as a middle linebacker, could he move on the field. Fucking fast. Hard-hitting. He was my secret fantasy type. The dirty me. The bad me. The one my husband teased.

At Hank’s sudden thrust, another moan tore from me. Their gazes met. Before I knew it, Bull pulled the door shut and moved closer. The potent scent of salty sweat and harsh pool chemicals flooded my brain.

“Boys.” As I started to lift, Bull gripped my arm. “Boys?”

Although my voice had risen, when Hank turned me and grabbed my other arm, I only moaned. Yeah, it was wrong. Of course it was. And with every dragging sideways scrape of my heels across the tile, all of us understood that. But trapped in the grip of two towering giants, I was—lost. We all were. Floating on a sea of swirling fantasy, fueled by good bourbon. Or, in their case, copious amounts of beer and weed.

No, that’s not fair. I won’t blame the booze. And my husband was a decent, loving man, so I can’t claim any moral high ground. It was pure lust fueling me. Well, all of us. The life-altering ramifications could wait.

Before I knew it, they’d shoved me into the hall bathroom. After stopping in front of me, Bull turned and went to lift my top. A final halting defense flew from me when I twisted and whirled, but Hank’s hand shot to grip the back of my neck as he slammed the door shut. The lock clicked.

“No. We can’t,” I said while smacking at Bull’s massive hands. “It’s not right.”

He only laughed.

As I yelped, he ripped the blouse skywards. No way was I strong enough to resist. While it flew over my head, flinging my arms upwards and sending my hair out in a cascade to land across my shoulders, I groaned.

“Mmm, hmm. Damn. Fuck me, them some nice titties, Mrs. Fisher.” As Bull spoke, his heated, beer-tinged breath sluiced over my bare torso.

That was a preview of Bad Mommy. To read the rest purchase the book.

Add «Bad Mommy» to Cart