Mother's Day" (MM+F wife, humor) It was a picture book start to Mother's Day. My baby sons tottering into our bedroom at 6 am: one clutching a card he made in pre-school, the other clutching a breakfast tray with a worrying sort of wobble. Their father tiptoed behind them, encouraging their progress with pats on their tiny bottoms, rescuing the tray and placing it on my bedside table. I got three cards, one from each of my men, and a vase containing the only flowers in the garden. My husband means very well indeed but his gardening tends to be of the 'scorched earth' variety. I was moved almost to tears by the kisses carefully, deeply inscribed on my cards, by the little sticky arms wound fondly round my neck, and the even stickier kisses. We settled down for breakfast - the little one cuddled up next to me in the big bed, happily munching my toast; his older brother doing Batman impressions by jumping off the blanket box. Right cape, wrong pyjamas. My old man's eyes met mine over the children's heads. We smiled, and our glance glittered for a second like a hot road surface. Sex is sometimes no more than an exchange of wistful glances, a look full of promise, when you have small children and two jobs. But at least it's still there. "Bill and Harry are off to Grandma's for the day, aren't you boys? They're going to have a lovely, lovely time!" James is smiling. "She and Grandpa are coming *very* early to take you to the zoo. And you're going to go out to the zoo for the *whole day*! Won't be back until bedtime! So we'll get you two dressed, shall we, and leave Mummy in peace to have a nice rest?" My corn-silk haired boys wobble and bounce joyfully off, the little one still in diapers at night, eager for their exciting day out. I am longing for my nice rest.... Mothers seem to spend an inordinate amount of time longing for a nice rest. @---}---}----- Next thing I know, James is whispering my name. "Wake up, Bronwen. Wake up, sweetheart." Eyelids fluttering, eyes popping open in shock, I sit bolt upright. I say nothing, but my mouth must be a silly 'O' of amazement. The room is packed with people. People with no clothes on. By the doorway of our disheveled bedroom stand three naked men. Erase that. Not naked. Nearly naked. I register three well-filled satin posing pouches. Belonging to three perfect 20-year-old athletes. Satin skin, rippling six packs, long sculptured limbs, exquisite shoulders. Faces which would look at home in Italian Vogue. These are easily the most beautiful men I have ever seen in RL. One blond, wearing a leopard skin G-string, one slightly Italianate man in yellow, and a plum-bloomed black man with a shaven head. His G-string is an absurd, yet sexy, iridescent pink. They have not another stitch on, not even shoes. They are all smiling at me in a wholesome sort of way. Astonishing teeth. James, OTOH, is *not* looking wholesome. He looks profoundly lecherous. "Meet Lance, Rod - and John Thomas, darling," he gestures at our guests. "They're your Mother's Day surprise. You've been working too hard, babes. Way too hard, and without a proper break. I know I don't always appreciate what a perfect wife and mother you are, but I've been trying to think of a way to show you. And knowing what your fantasies are, and how horny you get writing those stories - well...." his voice slows, and thickens. "I kinda like those slut wife stories myself. I thought I'd give you free rein today, and come home later to see how the four of you got on...." He grins, horny yet bashful. "I've bought you this, too," and he hands me an instant camera. "Holy shit, James!" My voice holds shock and admiration. He's a creative thinker, my boy, and he knows what turns me on, but this is outrageous. "You sure you know what you're doing, angel?" "Yep. I got these three guys especially *because* I know you'd never think of it yourself in a million years. But like the song says 'Girls just wanna have fun". You always loved that song. So I thought I'd put a bit back in your life. Have a good one, baby!" "But, James...." I yelp urgently and, leaping out of bed in my ankle-length nightie, hustled him into the bathroom and shut the door. Once inside I fire whispered questions. "What about disease? How do you know they aren't sex maniacs? Where did you get them?" James stays relaxed. "You don't have to worry about a thing, love. They've been tested for every disease possible, but we're all stocked up with condoms anyway. You'll find them beside the toaster. And never you mind where I found them." James taps the side of his nose. "That's my business. But they're not going to move a muscle unless you say so. You're the boss. That's the rules. This is *your* day. Those guys are safe as houses. You just get along and enjoy yourself." He kisses me first on the nose, then on the mouth, and with a cheery call of "You look after my old lady, OK?" he is gone. I stand at the top of the stairs, dumbstruck. But my hand has somehow found its way to my mound, where it winds itself around in an absent-minded way like a cat settling to sleep. @---}---}----- By 12 o'clock I am in the kitchen, rubbing my clit slowly through my nightdress as I watch a fantasy unfold. Outside in the garden John Thomas is up a ladder pruning the wisteria. I chose him because the Spring sunlight is treacherously bright and his glorious vinyl-black skin would never burn. His body against the whitewash would make a woman on her deathbed drool. But it isn't this that's giving me such pleasure, although I've been worrying about the wisteria for weeks now - one of those jobs that just never gets done. No, it's the sight of Lance on his hands and knees. The muscles and sinews of his shoulders, his back and his mouth-watering ass are as perfect as an anatomy drawing, but far more exciting. And what he is doing fulfills all this mother's wildest dreams. Lance is scraping all the crud out from under the refrigerator. Rod is upstairs finishing the bathroom with exquisite care and thoroughness. I checked a few minutes back, and I could eat out of my toilet. He's currently cleaning between the tiles with a toothbrush dipped in bleach. Earlier on he rolled all the kids' socks into pairs. They're nice boys. Really professional - and incredibly energetic. They aim to please. And so they have.... @---}---}----- It's nearly three and James will soon be back. And I love him far too much to disappoint him. I open the kitchen window and summon John Thomas from the weeding. Rod puts the last of the ironing neatly away and Lance gives the gleaming stove one final wipe. We come together, as arranged, in the living room. The curtains are drawn, and I've enjoyed getting ready in my spotless bathroom. I'd planned to wear some fancy lingerie but most of it's been washed lovingly by hand and is now drying among the lavender bushes. "Makes for a lovely scent, Mrs Sainsbury-McClintock," Rod informs me proudly. So I am bathed, scented, and ready - but unadorned. Never mind. Won't be for long. Soon I'll have a pearl necklace. "You've got the camera?" I ask Lance. "Yes, madam," he grins. "And I must admit all that cleaning's built up a good head of steam. You should get some *great* pictures." And we do. Lance at one end, JT at the other (we're getting to know each other now). Then the other way around. Me slowly impaling my arse on Rod's rod (I made some terrible joke about domestic staff.) The big finale shot is slightly spoilt though. Imagine me, lying on my back in the middle of the room, with my mouth wide open for the cum-bath of a lifetime. I'm trying to manipulate the camera while I thrust my hard heavy breasts up for maximum spatter. My nipples are dark loganberries of excitement. Three huge fat cocks disappear in a blur as their owners race to spunk on my face. One of them is fucking me furiously with a pink jelly dildo. My cunt is puffy and glistening, my face flushed, my chest mottled. I am determined to get James a picture to remember, a picture he can lech over when we are old and gray. But when the hot, luscious moment arrives - when the geysers erupt and the room is filled with groans - the first huge leap of jism splatters the lens. I'm worried I've fucked up but as James points out later: "It just adds to the realism." @---}---}----- I can hear his car in the drive. My three playthings have already gone home in a taxi. Such nice boys. Resting actors (and not a little bisexual) is my guess. I prefer what I've already got. To be honest, the slut wife stories I will tell James are more his treat than mine. The sparkling house is my well of refreshment. It's been a wonderful, wonderful day. As I gaze at the order and cleanliness around me it feels as if the weight of whole world has been taken off my back. I not only have an immaculate house, I even have *tidy cupboards*. Tidy cupboards - which have seemed until now an impossible dream. Isn't it terrible how your priorities can change? But now, as I hear his footsteps approaching, a wide, rampant grin spreads across my face. I feel spectacular. I feel totally relaxed, flooded with energy. I'm going to give my dear old man a seeing-to he won't *ever* forget! After all, I haven't had to lift a finger all day.....