Sharing Her: 10 New Erotic MFM Short Stories, page 9
I close my eyes tightly again and try to will myself back to sleep, hoping I can pick back up where the dream woefully left off. But I have never been the type to fall back asleep once I’m woken up. It’s annoying, but that little bird has ruined any chances of my having that dream again this morning. So instead I slide my hand down inside of my panties and begin to touch myself. If the two faceless men in my dream can’t get me off, I’ll just have to do it on my own. I massage tiny, soft circles into my clit, rolling my hips slowly as I cling to the sensory memory of two men touching me at once, four rough hands caressing my body and bringing me pleasure. Sure, maybe it’s a little odd to be doing this here, in my childhood bedroom. But then again, it’s not like I didn’t touch myself in this same bed as a horny teenager years ago. I begin to rub faster and harder, my mouth falling open as my breaths come more quickly. I arch my back, giving in to the waves of bliss rippling through my body, and cum with a shuddering sigh.
I lie there for a few minutes, coming down from the high. As my pleasure ebbs away, my stress comes rushing back in to take its place. I groan and crawl out of bed, my toes curling when they touch the cool wooden floors. I trudge out of the bedroom, still decorated as it was when I lived here four years ago, before I headed off to university in New York. I walk down the quiet hallway, the walls lined with family portraits and terrible paintings I made as a kid. I don’t know why my parents held on to all this stuff, but it’s also impossible for me to imagine this house any other way. The organized clutter, the personal touches, even the flaws-- they all make me feel at home. This is a house of love, full of happy memories that I cherish above all else.
Which is why, I think to myself as I get into the shower, I have to find a way to keep the house. This place is my heart and soul, and I can’t bear to let it go. In fact, this house is basically the whole reason I moved back home from New York. I went off to college in Syracuse, getting my master’s degree in creative writing. It was a great experience, and at the end of it, I landed a well-known agent in the city. She wanted me to move to Brooklyn and write there, so she was a little put out when I moved back here to North Carolina.
But the truth is, as much as I loved it up north, nowhere in the world inspires me quite like home does. This house lies in the picturesque foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, shaded by huge trees. Hiking trails leading to gorgeous waterfalls or cliffs with breathtaking views riddle these hills. My family home is on the edge of a forest, safely secluded from the suburbs and the hustle and bustle of Asheville. Growing up here was idyllic: playing in the woods from dawn till dusk, fishing in the creeks, climbing trees, picking wild strawberries and foraging for mushrooms with my pseudo-hippie parents. This old house has stood proudly on the hill surrounded by trees since the early 1900s, long before my parents bought the house and fixed it up. They got it for cheap back in the ‘80s, since it was a falling-apart old Victorian relic at the time. But they refurbished and renovated everything, breathing new life into the old beauty.
I assumed my parents would live here forever, but when I went off to college, they decided to retire to Florida. They want those white sandy beaches and a change of scenery, so they left the house to me. So I moved home, planning to use this place as a writer’s retreat, to inspire my work. But then my mother fell ill. Suddenly, the only way they could keep to their retirement plan was to sell off everything. The house is our final asset. And now it’s up for grabs, too, because some realty development company flashed a big number at my parents. An offer they could not afford to refuse. My mom required an emergency surgery, and it was an expensive one. The months of rehabilitation were pricey, too, even with their great insurance. Suddenly, our comfortable lives were turned upside down. She’s been getting treated down in Florida, close to the beachside cottage they’re renting for cheap.
Thankfully, my mother recovered from her illness, no doubt soothed and nursed back to health by a combination of my father’s devotion and the balmy sea air. But this still leaves our family home hanging in the balance. I’ve spent the last few weeks struggling to figure out how I can scrounge up money to save the house. As a freelance writer with a kickass agent, I make fairly good money. And since moving back here, my writing has flourished. I love to write romance novels, often centered around a cozy small town where everyone knows each other. Living here in the beautiful countryside is exactly the right location for that kind of writing. My success is slowly building, and I live comfortably. But it’s still not enough money to match the massive amount these developers are offering. I’ve tried fundraising. I’ve considered taking out loans… but nothing seems to be a good plan.
I dry off and get dressed, then walk outside into the brisk autumn air to check the mail. The leaves on the trees are turning vivid shades of orange and gold, like a blazing fire through the forest. It’s beautiful. I’ll never get tired of seeing the leaves turn. I just hope I can find a way to hold onto this place, whatever it takes.
I reach into the mailbox and pull out a letter with my parents’ name on it. I open up the envelope and read it over, noting the header at the top that says WILSON & WARREN DEVELOPMENT COMPANY. The letter informs my parents that an inspector will be coming by soon to appraise the house and see how to go about demolishing it.
“Wait. What?” I murmur, my heart racing. I read over it again, just to be sure.
“Demolishing the house?” I gasp, feeling rage build up inside me. I thought they were just buying it to sell, not to destroy it! This place, with all its memories and history, knocked down into rubble… I won’t stand for it. I storm back into the house and yank my long reddish-blonde hair back into a ponytail, pull on a sweater over my tank top and jeans, put on my boots, and head out to my car. I look up the address for the realty office online, punch it into my GPS, and get on the road. I’m fuming, my heart pounding so fast I feel like I might be sick. I am not about to let these bastards destroy my house!
I’m amazed that I don’t get stopped by the police for speeding so much, but it seems like luck is on my side for the moment. I hit almost entirely green lights as I rocket into town, leaving the woods behind. I pull up to a historic-looking old building with a brand new sign that reads WILSON & WARREN in large gold lettering. This is the place.
I hop out of the car and march straight into the office, where a petite brunette is sitting behind a receptionist desk. She looks up to smile at me, but her smile fades when she sees the undoubtedly scary look on my face. “C-Can I help you, miss?” she says nervously.
“Yeah,” I answer, going straight up to the desk and leaning forward. “You can tell me where I can find Wilson or Warren or whoever is the guy trying to destroy my house.”
“Oh. Um, ma’am, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Mr. Wilson and Mr. Warren have very full schedules. They have meetings booked up all day. All month, actually,” she says meekly.
“I don’t care. I demand to speak to whoever’s in charge here,” I say, folding my arms over my chest defiantly. “In fact, I’m not leaving until I get that meeting.”
The receptionist looks petrified. “I-I understand you’re upset, but there really isn’t anything I can do to help you except make an appointment for you to meet with someone, perhaps next month?” she offers, wincing already in anticipating of my anger.
I hate being like this. I’m not usually the type to cause drama, and I know I shouldn’t direct my anger at her. It’s not her fault. But I have to stand my ground.
“Next month won’t cut it. I need to speak to somebody now,” I tell her firmly.
I hear the click and creak of a door opening down the hall and then heavy footsteps. A tall, impossibly handsome man with dark hair and dark eyes, a square jaw, and broad shoulders comes walking up to stand beside the desk. He’s looking at me quizzically, but with a faint hint of amusement on his face that makes me even angrier.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asks coolly.
“You are!” I shoot back. “You and your partner are trying to tear down my house, and I will not stand for it. That house is a piece of history. It’s an antique beauty. It’s the most amazing house in the world and I will not let you destroy it.”
He nods slowly, taking in my words. Then he gives me an affable smile. “Okay. My partner and I will meet with you. But it’ll have to be after business hours because, as Janet here informed you, we have very busy schedules. What do you say we meet at the Blue Ridge Grille around seven o’clock tonight?” he offers.
I have half a mind to keep shouting, but I force myself to be calm. “Yes. Okay. Sure. We’ll do that then. Seven PM at the Grille. I’ll see you there,” I tell him. I turn tail and march out of there, get back into my car, and drive home, wondering what the hell I’m going to say tonight that could possibly change their minds.
It’s seven o’clock, and I’m sitting in my car, in the parking lot outside the Blue Ridge Grille, trying not to have a meltdown. I got here way too early in my eagerness to get this meeting over and done with. I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I just put on a little black dress with black tights, black heels, and a cherry-red peacoat. Of course, it wasn’t until arriving here that I realized my outfit is probably better suited for a first date than a meeting with the two evil men who are plotting to tear down my family home and wreck my dreams. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to impress them even though, well, I guess I am trying to impress them. Anything to make them reconsider their plans.
Finally, I force myself to open the car door and get out. I take a deep breath and stride into the restaurant, looking around for the table. The maitre’d looks me up and down and says, “Emma? Is that you?”
I glance over distractedly to see a guy I went to high school with. I give him a smile. It’s always nice to see a familiar face. It’s part of what I love about a small town. “Hi, Dave. It’s good to see you. I’m looking for a table… might be under the name Wilson. Or Warren.”
He points over at a corner booth, where two men are seated. “Just over there. Don’t keep them waiting, we can catch up later,” he says with a wink.
I hurry over to the table, trying not to feel sick with nervousness. Both men stand up when I approach, like true gentlemen. I’m stunned to see that both of them are jaw-droppingly hot. There’s the man I met this morning, with his dark hair and brown eyes, and next to him is an equally sexy guy, with blond hair and green eyes.
The man with the dark hair extends a hand and says, “Hi. I’m Travis Wilson. This is my business partner, Jake Warren. And judging from our short conversation this morning, I have a feeling you must be Emma Reed.”
I nod, looking back and forth between them. Suddenly I feel very vulnerable and… weirdly, annoyingly turned on. I have a feeling it has something to do with my sexy dream last night. But I have to ignore that. It’s business time.
“Yes. I’m Emma Reed,” I tell them, taking a seat. “And I am here to beg you not to destroy my house.”
“Cutting right to the chase, I see,” says Warren. “I like that.”
“She’s very confident,” adds his partner, both of them eyeing me approvingly.
I blush, half with shyness and half out of anger. “I need you to take me seriously, please. Look, that house is my heart and soul. I have so many wonderful memories there. It’s been there since the turn of the last century and it would be a travesty to lose it. Not just for me but for the community. It’s a beautiful house. And I don’t know what your plans are, but--”
“Our plan is to tear it down, clear out the forest, and build a golf course,” Warren interrupts. “It’s a deal that will bring in millions, possibly billions, in revenue. Both for us and for the community. Tourism would skyrocket. Wealthy businessmen and playboys would choose this place over Boca Raton, Malibu.”
“But--but--” I splutter, losing traction. “That’s not what we’re known for. We already have tourists here every year to hike and fish and enjoy nature as it is. We like the peace and quiet. A golf course would just be… unnatural.”
“Unnatural?” Wilson asks, raising an eyebrow. “So this is an ecological issue?”
“No. Yes. Well, partly. But mainly I am here to ask you-- beg you-- to please just let my house remain. I know my parents owe money, but I’m doing my best to help them pay it off. This house is the last thing we have left. Please don’t take it from us. Please,” I ask them passionately.
Both men exchange looks of smug curiosity, which makes me nervous.
“You would do anything, yes?” asks Warren.
“Yes. Anything,” I answer firmly. Wilson rummages through his briefcase on the seat beside him and slides a document across the table to me. Frowning in confusion, I read it over. My eyes widen and my heart pounds wildly. I look at both men in shock.
“What is this?” I ask quietly.
“A contract,” Wilson says coolly.
“Yes, I see that. But… what you’re asking of me… This is crazy,” I admit, putting the paper back down. “I-I can’t possibly do that. It’s wrong.”
“How so? You want to save your house, and we want a willing participant for an evening of enjoyment,” Warren explains, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world. “As soon as Travis told me about your outburst this morning, about how passionate and gorgeous you were, I drew up this contract. I’m a businessman. I’m pragmatic. And the way I see it, this is a win-win.”
I lean in closely and whisper, “Are you sure? This seems, I don’t know, illegal or something. Besides, how do I know I can trust you?”
Wilson grins. “I suppose you don’t. But you said you would try anything.”
I bite my lip, thinking it over. These men want to fuck me. Tonight. No holds barred. And in exchange, I might just save the family home. I flash back to my sexy dream from last night. In a way, tonight could actually be a dream come true.
“Okay,” I tell them. “Let’s do it, then.”
Wilson glances at the watch on his wrist. “The evening begins… now.” Both men stand up and gesture for me to follow. I guess dinner isn’t actually happening. They want to get started immediately. They leave a hundred-dollar bill on the table and we all head out of the restaurant to the confusion of the maitre’d.
“So, should I drive to meet you somewhere else or…?” I ask.
Wilson opens the door of a shiny black Cadillac. “No. We’ll take my car.”
Warren gets into the back seat and I reluctantly follow, not knowing what the hell they have in store for me. “You know, my mom used to tell me never to get into a car with a stranger,” I tell them as Wilson gets behind the wheel and drives us away from the restaurant in the direction of my house.
“After tonight, we won’t be strangers anymore,” Warren says. “We intend to get to know you very, very well.”
And with that, he leans in and kisses me. I freeze up at first, not expecting him to move so quickly. But he caresses my face with one hand, the other trailing down to grope my breasts through my dress, and I moan. Wilson glances back at us in the rear view mirror, watching as Warren feels me up. My body is warming to his touch, leaning into him as his hands slide up and down, grabbing my ass, my breasts, my hips. They are both impeccably dressed, with the kind of cologne that smells intoxicatingly delicious. Warren hoists me onto his lap, yanking up my dress so I can straddle him while we kiss. At first I was worried, but now, I think I might actually enjoy it. He smacks my ass and begins kissing my neck, nipping and sucking, leaving purplish bruises in his wake. I moan and close my eyes, giving in to the intense sensations.
Before it can go any further, I mumble, “I’m a virgin.”
Wilson chuckles in the front seat. “We know. I could tell just by looking at you. But don’t worry, we intend to take very good care of you tonight, Emma.”
Warren slides his hand down between us, his fingertips stroking my clit through the thin fabric of my tights. I shiver and moan, giving in to the sensations. He kisses my neck and plays with my nipples while his other hand works my clit. All the while I can feel his massive, rock-hard cock straining against my thigh. I’ve never had a cock inside me before, but I’m nearly salivating for it. Warren strokes my clit faster and faster, rocking against me, until I’m cumming, making my tights all wet.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“Good girl,” Warren whispers, kissing me. He unzips his pants and pulls out his enormous shaft, placing it in my hand. I swallow nervously as I start to stroke his immense length, hoping I do it right. By the look on his face, I’m doing just fine. He groans and pushes up into me as I pump his hard rod with both hands. I want him to feel as good as I do. This carries on for a few minutes, until Travis clears his throat.
“I think it’s time to switch off for a minute, don’t you?” he says pointedly. Warren chuckles and nods.
“Get up there and suck his cock,” Warren commands me. Wordlessly, I climb up into the passenger seat, thankful that there’s nobody around on these dark country roads. Wilson unbuttons his slacks and slides his cock out. His is massive, too, seemingly too big for my mouth. I give him a worried look but he only smiles.
“You can handle it, Emma,” he says. “Go ahead. Suck my cock. Right here in the open.”
I crawl over and crouch down, lowering my head into his lap and letting my tongue flick lightly over the engorged head of his shaft. “That’s it, baby. Keep going,” he urges me.
I slowly pull his full length into my mouth, my cheeks aching as his enormous thickness stretches my mouth. “Oh, fuck yes. Just like that,” Wilson groans, pressing gently on my head. As nervous as I am, it turns me on to know that he likes it. I begin to bob up and down on his cock, relaxing my jaw to take him in down to the hilt, the head of his cock brushing against the back of my throat. To my surprise, I don’t gag or cough at all.
“No gag reflex, huh?” Wilson growls. “We can make use of that.”
He pushes my head down a little harder and I suck him off eagerly, pleased to be doing a good job. I deepthroat him again and again, feeling my pussy dripping wet between my legs. At this rate, I can hardly wait to get to our destination. I need more. Finally, we arrive at my house. Wilson and Warren zip themselves back up and then Warren scoops me up over his shoulder to carry me up to the front door, making me giggle excitedly. I unlock the door and we burst into the house, both men feeling me up and kissing me all over. I’m almost overwhelmed with the pleasure of having two men pay so much attention to my virgin body. I’ve never been touched like this before. Wilson picks me up and they hurriedly carry me upstairs, walking into my bedroom and tossing me on the bed. Between the two of them, they get my clothes off in no time, leaving me naked and exposed in front of them. The men strip down, as well, and I finally get to see them naked in the light of my bedside lamp.
