The Cottage - Chapters 1-3 - Sex Stories

The Cottage - Chapters 1-3

... against his side, her mammoth breasts swallowing his arm. He reached between her legs and slid three fingers effortlessly into her sex. She drew a sharp breath, lifting her heels and smiling in surprise. He rummaged roughly inside her for a moment, pulling his fingers free as if cupping something. He brought these cupped fingers above Maggie’s mouth—high enough that she had to point her chin to the ceiling—and let his cum ooze onto her eager tongue.

Cherie—sweating from the heat and her rage—swallowed hard. Despite the urge to smash through the glass and strangle them, she felt her sex moisten. She took it all in, trying to decide how to feel, until her anger forced her teeth together, and she found her hands fisting at her sides. Her eyes lashed from one lover to the other. She mouthed, ‘The kids are mine,’ turned on her heels and marched with ragged steps around the side of the mirrored house and to the red convertible sunning itself in the driveway. The cream leather seat seared her skin as she threw herself into it. The engine gave its throaty roar as she throttled up, jerked the shifter, and swung the car backwards over the immaculate shrubs and flowers lining the driveway and onto the pristine lawn beyond them. She smiled wickedly as she hammered the brake and pressed the gas, forcing the tires to chew through the lawn before she released the brake and squealed onto the country road and toward her sister’s cottage. It took several minutes for her to cry, several ...

... more for her to stop, and longer than she would have liked to decide she was done with that man and Maggie and the rest of their friends; for all she knew, they were all in on this affair, and she was the only one sitting it out—damn them, damn herself, damn it all. With that decision settled in her mind and the road around her growing smaller, rougher, and more wooded along its edges, thoughts of revenge came to her. Her hands gripped the wheel, thinking about how she would screw her way through the next days and weeks and months until she felt she had scratched each itch within her loins that had gone unattended these past years. Yes, she grinned in the wind sweeping across her face; there would be many lovers, precious little discrimination, and much self-serving pleasure. No, she came to think, as the convertible slowed and climbed up a gravel driveway lined with young pines, there would be little protection—every sensation must be felt, every dormant urge indulged, consequences be damned. The convertible jolted to a stop. She looked at the modest, two-story log cabin before her while wiping the drying tears from her cheeks. Cherie felt the mask of motherhood coming on, the cottage reminder that Emily, her youngest daughter, had skipped their shopping trip with an upset stomach. Pulling herself together, Cherie went from the car to the cottage, pressing through the creaking front door with a searching gaze.

The cabin’s main floor had a small window in the kitchen and a ...