[M4M] Straight Stroke Buds in Mrs. Andersons Sperm Sanctum
The sight of two hard cocks being stroked side by side was unhinged in Mrs. Andersons elegant living room. Part of me felt like I was dreaming, like the scene could change at any moment and we'd be pumping our throbbing erections in a doctor's office or a lecture hall. There was a sparkling chandelier, a pretty tea table and shelves with countless meaningful knickknacks one could spend an hour asking about. But the wide-eyed housewife sitting a few feet from us didn't want to talk about her souvenirs or heirlooms. She wanted to talk about penis.
"How do your big penises feel, boys?" she asked for the third time.
I stole yet another glance at the hard cock next to mine and knew it felt the same way. About to burst despite it all. Despite this not being what I imagined. I'd imagined sex with a quiet, bored mom next door. Bending her over her kitchen counter or throwing her onto her marital bed. Instead, she just sat there watching with hands neatly folded atop her closed legs. How did she talk me into this, let alone two of us?
"Don't you love masturbating those big hard penises?" she asked. Her timid voice had grown deep and resonant while her gentle eyes were glassy and trancelike. "You don't need to worry about my sofa. No worries about anything whatsoever. Just give your penises what they want. You can get as throbby and penised and sperm everywhere."
Mrs. Anderson had never been central in any of our lives. She existed somewhere in the background with little jokes hinting at a hidden reality and reminding us of her existence. Jokes that seemed to come forth compulsively and then hang there awkwardly as if the person who made it knew to immediately drop it. I'd always assumed that was because they felt bad. A joke about how much she loved cock had to be ironic, right? The woman had never seemed to do anything wrong to anyone. She was respected and very well regarded in a way that neighborhood sluts never are, by men and women alike.
Wouldn't rumors spread if she truly were promiscuous?
And yet there was something about the way she looked at me lately. The way our eyes locked and lingered. Fleeting jokes and overheard comments that planted seeds in my subconscious. And she lived so close while I was pathetically horny. To visit her, to blurt out a clumsy proposition. It seemed logical until I actually did it and saw horror in her face. Of course she didn't say yes.
Yet the very next day, she sent a familiar face to my house who invited me for a walk. That walk took us straight into the woman's living room.