Jason Cannon: Threesome for mom

Margaret Reed stood at the bay window and looked out at the young boys playing volleyball on the beach. She could hear her son-in-law moaning through the thin wall that separated their bedrooms.

Jesus, she thought, in the middle of the day?

And probably at night, too.

How long would she be able to take hearing all tat sex play between her daughter and her new husband without going off the deep end herself. Certainly not a whole summer.

These kids today. No qualms. They just do it. Margaret wished she could just do it. After the divorce from her husband, she had practically crawled into a hole for five years.

Then, at a friend's birthday party, she had met Harvey Crowi. He was about her age, thirty-five at the time, and very handsome. They hit it off immediately. Before Margaret knew it, she was accompanying him to his apartment.

Over drinks the conversation immediately turned to sex. Margaret explained that she felt obligated to set an example for her daughter. So, since her divorce, she had sworn off men.

His apartment was one large, square room, expertly furnished, with a kitchen and dressing room off to one side, and the dining area separated from the sitting room by a clever bookcase and room divider that housed the latest in stereo components. A huge oil painting decorated one wall. It was a nude woman with flaming red hair and a beautiful body.

"My wife," he said.

Margaret's head stopped. She hadn't realized he was married. "I didn't know…"

"Oh, don't worry," he said, "no problem."

It sounded as if he were saying, "Don't worry, we are separated," or something like that, but she couldn't be sure. She knew she should pursue it and find out for sure, but she just couldn't bring herself to ask the question.

"Were you the artist?"

"Hell, no," Harvey replied, flashing a sardonic smile at her. "I'm a rake and a roue. How about you?"

Margaret laughed. "I'm independently wealthy on my husband's alimony."

It was his turn to laugh. "Why the divorce… if you don't mind my asking?"

"He wanted a younger woman."

"Why didn't you just take a younger man? Why go without?"

"It hasn't been that hard."

"Hasn't it?" he said, a leering grin on his face that made her avert her eyes. It had been that hard, but she wasn't willing to admit it to herself. "What are you, Meg… frigid?"

"Far from it," she replied. "I just didn't want to be tagged as a giddy divorcee."

"Let's see if you're frigid," he said, reaching out to pull her toward him.

"Take it easy," she countered, thinking how rough he suddenly was. His hand left red finger marks on her wrist. But her heart pounded wildly.

"I think you're hot enough to melt the ice in Alaska," he whispered.

Meg closed her eyes as his hands began an amorous trip around her body. The familiar tingling in her breasts, the crazy hammering low in her pelvis. Nothing else counted at this moment, but this. Her own hands cruised about his chest, finding warm satisfaction in his muscular strength.

"Okay, take off your clothes," he ordered brusquely, releasing her with such suddenness she nearly fell.

Meg hesitated, caught off guard. But he was already shucking his clothes. He was built like a longshoreman, she thought, her body starting to quiver with uncontrollable excitement. Broad shoulders, massive chest. Her hand was shaking when it reached behind for the zipper. What a big man he was! His sheer bulk sent desire through her in waves of heat.

"What's the matter with you, need help?" he mocked.

"Just out of practice," she answered, falling apart inside.

Her eyes closed as he completed what she'd begun, his fingers tingling over her suddenly exposed skin. There was nothing gentle about him. His roughness was almost an, undercurrent of anger.

Meg felt strange standing naked in front of a man for the first time in five years. His wife, matchingly nude, stared down from the painting at her, making her even more nervous.

Harvey's mouth came down hard on Meg's, pouring itself with a furious intensity into the heat of her own. His fingers were rough on her breasts until she cried inwardly with pain. Why was he so rough with her? she thought. Was he angry at something she had done?

His mouth finally gave her freedom. Her breasts ached with the fury of his touch.

"Are you playing games?" he mocked. "Are you putting me on?"

"Don't be silly," she said. "Like I told you, I'm just a little out of practice." Oh, don't blow it, she told herself. Her body was aching for him. She wanted him. She wanted his big thick prick rammed up inside her, splitting her apart, pushing to the far reaches of her cunt. She wanted him now, this minute.

"Then, come here," he rasped, lowering his mouth to her breast, capturing the still-taut nipple to which he'd brought pain a few minutes ago. He stroked her flat belly, moving to her thighs.

Meg cradled his head, pleasure surging through her. His hot moist tongue at her breast and his strong, supple fingers were lifting her to frenzy.

His mouth left her tit and he rose to stand tall above her, his eyes probing, mocking.

"You're driving me crazy," she said, her trembling fingers reaching to caress his cock.

"Tell me what you want!" he growled.

"You," she whispered, her face hot, her voice trembling. "I want you. I want your prick inside me."

She knew she should be afraid of him, this massive, rough stranger. But she wasn't. He was exciting, thrilling like no other man she had ever met.

He shoved her, with one powerful thrust that knocked her to the floor. She lay there, waiting.

"Here," he said, tossing her a pillow to put under her head.

His roughness seemed to have primed Meg's sappy pussy. She was panting, eager, leaping into passion when his mouth touched her body. Writhing beneath the hot moistness of his mouth as it zigzagged down her body, Meg was no longer aware of Harvey Crowi's body as really being a part of another human being. He was sex, a cock, satisfaction from the wealth of desire she had stored in her own body, but kept hidden for so long.

"Put it in," he gasped, taking her hand and wrapping it around his hard, thick cock. "I want to fuck you!"

Meg felt the rubbery head of his prick tickling her anus, her ass cheeks, and the fine dark fur of her pubic mound.

Impulsively, she reached down between their bodies, wrapped trembling fingers about the pulsing shaft, and guided the warm cock to her cuntlips. "Fuck it up!" she breathed hotly into his face. "All the way in me!"

She held his big prick, lifted her buttocks, and marveled at the way he trembled as the stiffness slipped into her pussy. She looked don their bodies, to her dark hair. What an incredible thing it was… not only did it possess the ultimate in pleasure for her, but bidden within the pink folds, in her round belly, was the power to change a gruff, tough character like Harvey into a trembling, willing tool.

Meg gasped and raised her hips high, taking the last of his cock into her sheath. "Oh, God it feels… so good!"

"You're good, baby," he rasped.

She allowed her body to take over. She threw her legs high, over his back, locking her ankles. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. "Fuck me good," she whispered, humping with all her might up onto his rod. "Oh do it. Do it!"

His hands gripped her ass. Pulling her up to him, he began to ream her pulling back until his cock almost slipped from her cuntlips, then driving back into her with all his power.

She couldn't think of anything except the hotly throbbing shaft that was boring up into her cunt. She could feel every pulsing vein and ridge an its thickened trunk. As it wormed its way deeper into her sensitive flesh, she whimpered… not because it hurt, but because it felt so good.