The Cottage - Chapters 1-3 - Sex Stories

The Cottage - Chapters 1-3

... returned her focus to the empty, pothole-laden road unravelling before her.

Maggie’s gonna be so surprised! She thought, nearly snorting with laughter, as she imagined the look on her old friend’s face when she unexpectedly showed up at her door.

The old college friends - and mutual maids-of-honour - hadn’t spoken outside of email in years. But, with Cherie’s family staying at her sister’s nearby cottage for the first time, the mother of three couldn’t help but abandon an afternoon shopping trip - and a suddenly sick eldest daughter - and make an effort to see her former roommate.

The car gave a sharp squeal as Cherie jerked it to the left - a rush of a adrenaline pushing through her chest as she felt it fighting to grip the concrete below - her legs squeezing together in a whole-hearted effort to steady the curvy woman in her seat as she navigated a new, tree-lined side road.

Blood rushed into her loins.

After a few winding turns, a sprawling cottage - adorned with floor-to-ceiling tinted windows on all sides - roared into view.

Cherie’s jaw dropped.

The cottage’s cobblestone driveway came to a looping end several metres in front of the main entrance: a pair of tall oak doors sporting a single, circular brass handle roughly waist-high off the ground.

The car jerked to a stop in front of them, finding itself suspiciously alone at the end of the expansive, secluded property.

Worry fluttered in Cherie’s chest at the prospect of her hour-long drive ...

... having been an utter waste. With a nervous gulp she threw one of her curvy legs out the car door and pushed herself out of the vehicle.

She came to an unintentionally seductive, crossed-legged pose beside the car - the mid-summer sun attacking her exposed skin with its unfiltered, radiant heat. Hot, sticky sweat began to seep from her every pore - sliding between her breasts, down the crevices of her back, and building inside the folds of her bunched labia.

Every muscle in her body pulled as she pushed her arms to the clear blue sky, alleviating any residual stiffness from the drive. Her natural, D-sized breasts struggled against the soft yellow athletic top hugging her skin.

With a quick bend at the hips she plunged back into the car for her iPhone - a fleeting breeze tickling her groin - a quick glance at which made her skin boil.

The screen was filled with angry messages from her husband - Steven, a middle-aged deadbeat who was spending increasingly larger amounts of time travelling for work, and increasingly less time with her and the girls - informing her that she should enjoy her last weekend of freedom before he returned from his latest business trip. At which point he promised to take away her credit cards, the convertible, and essentially lock her in the house.

“Fucking asshole,” she whispered with seething vitriol as the phone was forcefully lobbed onto the caramel-coloured leather seat.

Shaking herself back to the present moment, Cherie used the ...