I've been pent up for months, my body aching for release that my husband, that lazy excuse for a man, refuses to give. He's more interested in his beer and the TV than in touching me, leaving me to fend for myself in the quiet moments I steal away. But even those are rare—our house is always chaotic, thanks to my two stepsons, Enzo and Rion. They're grown now, in their early twenties, full of that restless energy that drives me insane with their constant noise, slamming doors, blasting music, and roughhousing like overgrown kids. If only they could channel that vigor into something useful... like mowing the damn lawn he won't touch, or better yet, satisfying the hunger I've been ignoring for too long.
The idea hits me one sweltering afternoon as I lie in bed, my fingers circling my clit in desperate, futile strokes. The house vibrates with their laughter from downstairs—thuds and shouts echoing up the stairs. My pussy throbs, slick and needy, but the interruptions make it impossible to focus. Frustration boils over into something darker, hotter. What if...? No, that's insane. But the thought lingers, teasing me like a forbidden touch. They're not blood-related, after all—just the remnants of his previous marriage. And God, they're handsome in that rough, unpolished way: Enzo with his broad shoulders and cocky grin, Rion slimmer but intense, his eyes always lingering a second too long on my curves.
I need more than one. One cock wouldn't be enough to fill this void. I crave both, their youthful stamina pounding away the neglect. The fantasy builds slowly, my breaths coming shorter as I imagine them taking turns—or better, together. Who gets my mouth, warm and eager? Who slides into my dripping pussy first? It doesn't matter; they'll both win, and I'll finally feel full, desired, alive.
That evening, I decide to test the waters. The husband is out—thank God—leaving me alone with the boys. I slip into a thin sundress that hugs my full breasts and flares over my hips, the fabric whispering against my skin with every step. No bra, no panties; the slight breeze from the open window hardens my nipples, sending sparks straight to my core. I can feel the wetness building already, a subtle ache that makes me hyper-aware of my body.
"Enzo, Rion," I call from the kitchen, my voice husky, laced with feigned annoyance. "Come here for a minute."
They saunter in, Enzo wiping sweat from his brow after whatever nonsense they were up to outside, Rion smirking like he knows something I don't. Their eyes flick over me, and I catch the subtle shift—Enzo's gaze dipping to my cleavage, Rion's lingering on the hem of my dress where it rides up my thighs as I lean against the counter.
"What's up, Shay?" Enzo asks, his tone casual, but there's a edge to it, like he's testing me.
I cross my arms, pushing my breasts up just enough to draw their attention. "Your father won't mow the lawn, and it's looking like a jungle out there. If you two have so much energy to make all that racket, maybe you could put it to good use."
Rion chuckles, stepping closer. "Mow the lawn? That's boring. We'd rather... hang out."
The air thickens, charged with unspoken possibilities. I feel a flush creep up my neck, my pulse quickening. My pussy clenches at the proximity, their scents—musky sweat and faint cologne—filling my senses. I uncross my arms, letting my hands trail down my sides, brushing the fabric taut over my hips. "Hang out? You boys are always so... energetic. Maybe you need an outlet."
Enzo's eyes darken, and he moves in too, flanking me. "What kind of outlet?"
My heart races, the slow burn igniting. I reach out, my fingers grazing Enzo's arm, feeling the heat of his skin. "Something to tire you out properly."
The tension snaps like a taut string. Rion's hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You've been looking at us like that for weeks, Shay. Like you want more than just help around the house."
I don't deny it. Instead, I press back against him, feeling the growing hardness in his jeans. "Maybe I do. Your father's useless in every way. But you two... you could make me feel good."
Enzo's lips crash onto mine first, rough and demanding, his tongue invading my mouth with a hunger that mirrors my own. I moan into the kiss, my hands fisting his shirt as Rion's fingers slide under my dress, tracing the curve of my ass. The sensation is electric—his touch light at first, teasing, then firmer, squeezing the flesh until I gasp.
"God, you're so fucking hot," Enzo murmurs against my lips, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples through the thin fabric. They pebble instantly, aching for more. I arch into him, the friction sending jolts of pleasure straight to my clit.
Rion spins me around, his mouth on my neck, sucking gently at the sensitive skin while his hand dips between my thighs. "No panties? Naughty mommy." His fingers find my slick folds, parting them slowly, deliberately. I whimper as he circles my entrance, collecting my wetness before sliding one finger inside. The stretch is minimal but intoxicating, my walls clenching around him greedily.
"More," I beg, my voice breathy. "I need both of you."
They don't hesitate. Enzo lifts my dress over my head, exposing me completely, his eyes devouring my naked form—full breasts heaving, pussy glistening with arousal. Rion sheds his clothes quickly, his cock springing free, thick and veined, already leaking precum. Enzo follows, his own erection longer, curving slightly upward.
I drop to my knees, the cool tile biting into my skin, heightening every sensation. "Who wants my mouth first?" I tease, looking up at them with hooded eyes.
Enzo steps forward, gripping the base of his cock. "Me." I wrap my lips around the head, tasting the salty bead at the tip, swirling my tongue slowly. He groans, his hand tangling in my hair as I take him deeper, the thickness filling my mouth, stretching my jaw. I hollow my cheeks, sucking rhythmically, the wet sounds echoing in the kitchen.
Rion positions himself behind me, his hands on my hips. "Spread for me, Shay." I obey, arching my back, presenting my dripping pussy. He rubs his cock along my slit, coating himself in my juices, the friction against my clit making me moan around Enzo's shaft. Then, with agonizing slowness, he pushes in, inch by inch, filling me completely. The fullness is overwhelming, my body trembling as he bottoms out, his balls pressing against me.
They find a rhythm—Rion thrusting deep and steady, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes, while I bob on Enzo's cock, saliva dripping down my chin. The scents of sweat and sex fill the air, mingling with their grunts and my muffled whimpers. My breasts bounce with each movement, nipples grazing Enzo's thighs.
"Switch," Rion growls after a while, pulling out with a wet pop. They trade places seamlessly. Now Rion's cock is in my mouth, thicker, forcing me to adjust, while Enzo slams into my pussy from behind, his hands spanking my ass lightly, the sting adding to the building ecstasy.
The pressure coils tighter, my orgasm approaching like a wave. "I'm close," I gasp, pulling off Rion momentarily. "Don't stop."
Enzo's thrusts quicken, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing in firm circles. Rion fucks my mouth harder, his hips bucking. It hits me all at once—waves of pleasure crashing over me, my pussy spasming around Enzo, juices squirting down my thighs. I cry out, the sound garbled around Rion's cock.
They follow soon after, Enzo pulling out to paint my back with hot ropes of cum, Rion exploding in my mouth, the bitter-salty taste flooding my senses as I swallow greedily.
We collapse in a heap, bodies slick and satisfied. But I know this is just the beginning—my cravings run deep, and these boys have plenty more energy to give.
I've always been the type to keep things bottled up, but lately, the pressure has been unbearable. My husband—let's call him what he is: a chump—hasn't touched me in months. He comes home, plops on the couch, and zones out, leaving the house chores and my needs unmet. The lawn is overgrown, a testament to his laziness, but that's the least of it. What I really crave is the kind of attention that makes my skin tingle, my breath hitch, and my body arch in ecstasy. Masturbation helps, but it's a poor substitute, especially with interruptions.
Enter Enzo and Rion, my stepsons from his previous marriage. They're in their early twenties now, no longer the awkward teens I first met. Enzo is built like a tank—broad chest, strong arms from whatever manual jobs he picks up, and a jawline that could cut glass. His dark hair is always tousled, and he has this cocky, knowing smile that makes my stomach flip. Rion is leaner, more athletic, with piercing blue eyes that seem to see right through me. He's quieter, but intense, his gaze lingering on my body when he thinks I'm not looking. They share an apartment technically, but they're always over, making noise, eating our food, and driving me up the wall with their energy.
One particularly frustrating afternoon, I'm upstairs in the bedroom, door locked, trying to find some peace. The sun filters through the curtains, warming the sheets as I slide my hand into my panties. My fingers glide over my smooth mound, dipping into the wetness that's already gathered. I circle my clit slowly, building the tension, imagining strong hands on me instead of my own. My nipples harden under my tank top, begging for attention, so I pinch one, gasping at the sharp pleasure.
But then—bam! A thud from downstairs, followed by laughter and shouting. Enzo and Rion are at it again, probably wrestling or playing some stupid game. The noise shatters my focus, my arousal fizzling into irritation. I pull my hand away, slick fingers trembling. "Fucking hell," I mutter, sitting up. If they're so full of vim and vigor, why waste it on nonsense? The thought creeps in unbidden: what if they directed that energy toward me? It's wrong, taboo, but the idea sends a fresh wave of heat between my legs. I've noticed how they look at me—hungry, appreciative. And I'm starving for cock, the kind that pounds relentlessly, fills me up until I can't think straight. One wouldn't suffice; I need both, their youthful stamina overwhelming me.
I shake it off, but the seed is planted. Over the next few days, I test the waters subtly. I wear shorter skirts around the house, bending over a little too long when picking things up, letting them catch glimpses of my lace panties or the swell of my breasts. Their reactions are telling: Enzo's jokes turn flirtatious, Rion's silences more charged. The tension builds like a storm, electric and inevitable.
It culminates on a Friday night. Husband is at his buddy's for poker, won't be back till late. The boys are over, supposedly to "help" with yard work, but they've been procrastinating, lounging in the living room with beers. I join them, pouring myself a glass of wine to steady my nerves. My outfit is deliberate: a silk robe over lingerie, the kind that clings to every curve, the robe loosely tied so it gaps enticingly.
"You two are useless, just like your father," I tease, sinking into the couch between them. The proximity is intoxicating—their body heat, the faint scent of their colognes mixed with clean sweat from earlier exertions.
Enzo laughs, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, fingers brushing my shoulder. "Hey, we're here, aren't we? What more do you want?"
I turn to him, my eyes locking on his. "More. A lot more." The words hang heavy, laced with innuendo.
Rion shifts closer, his thigh pressing against mine. "Like what, Shay?"
The air crackles. I untie my robe slowly, letting it fall open to reveal the black lace bra and thong beneath. My breasts strain against the fabric, nipples visible as hard peaks. "Like this. I've been neglected too long. If you boys have all this energy..."
Enzo's hand moves first, tracing the edge of my bra, his touch feather-light. "Fuck, you're serious." His voice is rough, aroused.
Rion leans in, his lips brushing my earlobe. "We've wanted this. You have no idea."
The slow burn ignites. Enzo's mouth finds mine in a deep, exploratory kiss—tongues dancing, tasting the wine on my lips. His hand cups my breast, kneading gently, thumb flicking the nipple until I moan. Rion's fingers trail down my stomach, over the lace, pressing against my mound. The pressure is exquisite, making my hips buck instinctively.
"Let's take this upstairs," I whisper, leading them to the bedroom. The journey is torturous—every step heightens the anticipation, my pussy throbbing with need.
In the room, I shed the robe, standing before them in just lingerie. They strip efficiently, revealing toned bodies, cocks already hard and straining. Enzo's is thick, veined, about seven inches; Rion's longer, smoother, with a slight curve. I lick my lips, the sight making me wetter.
I push Enzo onto the bed, straddling him. His hands roam my body, unhooking my bra to free my breasts. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers down my spine. I grind against his cock, the lace barrier frustrating but delicious, my juices soaking through.
Rion kneels behind me, his hands on my ass, spreading my cheeks. He pulls the thong aside, his breath hot on my exposed pussy. "So wet for us." His tongue licks a slow stripe from clit to entrance, tasting me. I cry out, the sensation overwhelming—velvety warmth, probing gently before delving deeper.
Enzo's cock twitches beneath me. "I need to be inside you."
"Not yet," I tease, sliding down his body. I take his cock in hand, stroking slowly, feeling the heat and pulse. My mouth waters as I lean in, licking the head, savoring the precum. I suck him in, inch by inch, my cheeks hollowing as I bob, hand twisting at the base.
Rion positions himself at my entrance, rubbing his cock along my slit. The tease is maddening—up and down, pressing against my clit, then notching at my hole. "Beg for it, mommy."
"Please," I gasp around Enzo's cock. "Fuck me."
He thrusts in slowly, stretching me deliciously. The fullness is perfect, his cock hitting deep. He sets a languid pace, each withdrawal and plunge building the fire.
We move in sync, my mouth on Enzo, pussy clenching Rion. Sensory overload: the salty taste on my tongue, the slap of skin, the musky scent of arousal, the wet sounds of sucking and fucking. My fingers find my clit, rubbing in time with their thrusts.
The orgasm builds gradually, a coil tightening in my belly. "Faster," I urge.
Rion obliges, pounding harder, his balls slapping my ass. Enzo fucks my mouth deeper, his groans vibrating through me.
It crashes over me—intense, shuddering waves, my pussy milking Rion, juices gushing. He pulls out, cumming on my back in hot spurts. Enzo follows, filling my mouth, and I swallow every drop.
We lie tangled, breaths ragged. But the night is young; my hunger isn't sated yet. Round two begins with positions switched, their cocks exploring every inch of me—mouth, pussy, even teasing my ass with fingers. The erotic tension never fades, each touch, each thrust drawing out the pleasure until we're all spent, bodies glistening, satisfied.
In the aftermath, I know this changes everything. But for now, I'm full, desired, and finally at peace.