MILF Town New Jersey Ch. 01

Author's Note: The following is a work of fiction. All participants in sexual activities are over the age of eighteen.

This is the first in a five part series which will all be released quickly. It is the follow-up series to Mrs. Mandalucci, but is also a stand-alone series in every way. The tone of this series is more raunchy than romantic. Not just anal, but lesbian interactions, threesomes, foursomes, and moresomes may all occur. A total sexfest. If that's your sort of thing, then have a read and enjoy the ride.

_____________

MILFTOWN, NEW JERSEY,

CHAPTER ONE:

MEET MRS. LOEWENSTIEN

by Eosphorus

Mrs. Loewenstein's house!

How many times have I gone past and imagined being invited inside? Admitted to the abode of the red-headed MILF goddess herself. The incomparable one. My biggest crush.

It's small, like most of the houses on Main Street. Light green with black shutters. A front porch and a tiny lawn. Her mid-1980s red BMW convertible is parked in the driveway that leads to the detached garage around back. It looks like it just rolled out of the showroom.

I step onto the front porch. The plaque next to the door reads "Thomas Allen House, 1859."

In the warmer months there are hanging pots overflowing with flowers.

Deep breath, deep breath.

I knock on the door and glance up and down the street. It's weird being home from school. Everything's like it was when I left. Bruni's Bikes is right across the street from Mrs. Loewenstein's, Main Street Ice Cream a few doors down. Lynne's Cafe and DJ's Comics past that. Then the mill at the end of the street where Gio's Pizzeria and the yoga studio are.

How old was I when Mom allowed me to bike into town by myself? Eleven or twelve, I think. I had to text her first whenever I did. She hadn't made detective yet and I'd see her patrol car parked down the street where she didn't think I'd notice. Or she'd just happen to drive by,

So many memories in this town.

Mrs. Loewenstein answers the door. "Neil!"

"Hi, Mrs. Loewenstein," I say.

Don't stare at her tits, don't stare at her tits.

She smiles and it's more beautiful than anything in the world. "Please, come in."

I follow her inside, eyes glued to her ass. She's wearing a hip-hugging black skirt and bright red top. Damn. Mrs. Loewenstein is the hottest of all Mom's friends. That's saying something, too, because Mom has a lot of hot friends.

How am I actually here? Inside Mrs. Loewenstein's house!

In my dreams, this is when she makes me admit I often jerk off fantasizing about her. Then she has me strip naked and masturbate for her amusement.

Alas. Not today, it seems.

I glance around. Her place is stylish. Modern furniture, brightly-painted walls, and intricate white wood moulding.

Mrs. Loewenstein glances back at me smiling. "It's upstairs. Let me show you."

I follow her up the narrow staircase, staring at her ass. It sways back and forth as she climbs the steps. It's close enough I could grab it. Or shove my face between those tantalizing cheeks.

Damn. I'll jerk off tonight imagining getting to worship Mrs. Loewenstein. Every adorable inch of her. Wherever and however she tells me. Anything to prove my lust for her. I'll make up for my youthful inexperience with enthusiasm.

Her office is at the end of the hall. It's exactly like I might've pictured. A desk and a laptop. Built-in bookshelves. A window overlooking Main Street.

She points to the ceiling fan. "There it is."

I nod. "I'll have the new one installed right away."

Our eyes meet. I can never figure out what color hers are. Depending on the light, they're either gray or they're blue. They're more blue right now.

Mrs. Loewenstein brushes my arm with her hand. "I feel silly not being able to deal with this myself."

"Not at all," I say.

We glance at each other again. Goddamn, she's pretty. Full lips, high cheekbones. Character and experience etched into her face alongside beauty. And all that long, wavy red hair.

"I'll get out of your way," she says. "If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen working. I'm sure you'll take good care of me."

I'd like nothing more.

____________

The job doesn't take long. Less than an hour. The only hassle is figuring out which switch in the ancient circuit breaker kills the power in her office. I turn it back on when I'm done I go back upstairs. The new fan's blades are spinning steadily.

"Success!" I say.

Thank goodness. I didn't want to disappoint Mrs. Loewenstein. I prefer impressing her, however I can.

I've always liked older women, and not just Mrs. Loewenstein. There's Mrs. Erickson who owns the Yoga place next to Gio's, for one. Then there's Mrs. Slobotnik from the library. Yeah, she's pretty awesome. Short, sexy, and about Mom's age.

I hear Mrs. Loewenstein's heels in the hall. In my fantasies this is when she's changed into lingerie. In reality, she's in the same outfit as before.

"It's done," I say.

She places her hand on my shoulder, standing close. "Look at that. Well done."

Excitement courses through me. What the fuck? Her hand is on my shoulder. Damn, damn, DAMN! She's so close it's sweet torture. Her vaguely floral aroma--cherry blossom, I'm sure-- hits my nostrils and there's a distinct swelling in my jeans.

"It looks good," I say.

She nods, her hand remaining on my shoulder. "It really suits the room, don't you think?"

I can barely breathe. "Sure."

Her eyes remain upwards, watching the fan turn. I sneak a peek at her. There's so much to appreciate. Her adorable little nose, her smooth white neck. Her stylish eyeglasses.

I peek down her blouse and get a glimpse of ample cleavage before her head turns towards me. My eyes dart back up.

Did she catch me? The smirk on her face tells me she did. I tense up.

"Let me ask you a question," she says.

"Uh, sure."

"How old are you?" she asks.

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen." Mrs. Loewenstein nods. "How did someone so young get so adept with your hands? Able to install a ceiling fan so easily, I mean."

"My grandpa's a handyman," I say. "I've been working summers for him since I was fourteen. He moved down to Florida."

She smiles, rubbing my shoulder. "Now I remember Julie saying something about that. I'll leave you to clean up your tools while I get your cash."

I watch her go. What a gorgeous butt. And those shapely, muscular legs. What well-developed calves, too. She's a regular at the yoga place, same as Mom. It shows.

She's in the kitchen when I go downstairs. She hands me money. "There you go. Can I get you anything? Maybe something to drink?"

"I don't want to be a bother," I say.

"I've already got a pot of herbal tea going."

"Sure. Tea sounds great," I say.

"Sit."

I sit at the kitchen table. Tea was the right call. A soft drink or water means you take it to go. Tea means you sit and talk. Talking to Mrs. Loewenstein sounds nice.

She pours out two cups and sits facing me. It's going to take a monster effort not to stare at her boobs. Her blouse showcases them perfectly. She must know it.

"Talk to me," she says. "I don't know that much about you. Only what Julie's mentioned."

"What's she said?" I ask.

"That you run track and are majoring in History. Hoping to go into education."

I shrug. "That's the plan."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I didn't get off to the best start," I say. "More focused on parties than studying."

Mrs. Loewenstein nods. "I recall those days, all the temptations. It's okay to indulge them, but only if it doesn't deter you from your goals."

"Mom wants me to have zero fun at school."

"I'm positive that's not true," Mrs. Loewenstein says.

"She doesn't understand I'm just as upset as her that I screwed up. I've always only wanted to do one thing, now it's in jeopardy."

Mrs. Loewenstein picks up her tea, sipping it. "I know what that's like. That certainty about knowing what you want to do."

"Did you always want to be a writer?"

"I got side-tracked and worked in the corporate world," she says. "Left all that, though, and threw myself into my passion."

"And now you do what you love."

She smiles. "I'm lucky enough to actually make enough money doing it. My books might not be best sellers, but I've a loyal readership."

I nod. Mom has a bunch of books from Mrs. Loewenstein's Court of the Empress series. "Historical Romance, right?"

"I wouldn't call it Romance per se." There's a mischievous glint in her voice.

"What's your favorite part? About being a writer, I mean."

She sips tea. "Getting to tell a story, I suppose. Or seeing my name in print. Working from home, too. No time wasted on some godforsaken commute."

"But you're always dressed so nice, every time I see you. Working from home, you could be in pajamas all day."

Mrs. Loewenstein smiles. "You've noticed my clothing, have you?"

My cheeks grow flush. "I, um."

She pats my hand. "Relax. I'm teasing. I dress my best because I like to."

And goddamn your best is incredible. "What other reason do you need, right?"

She shrugs. "I enjoy being a woman. That includes, for me, a lot of the stereotypical elements. Clothes, hair, makeup, jewelry. You oughta see my shoe collection. Imelda Marcos has nothing on me."

Imelda who? I nod, sipping tea.

"I also hold myself to a high standard," she says. "I make a point to reject mediocrity."

"Reject mediocrity. I like that."

"It's my personal philosophy," she says. "My mantra, you might say."

"Maybe it should be mine."

"It starts by sticking to a schedule. Nobody's going to hold me accountable except me. It's like that first day of college, when you realize they don't take attendance. That it's on you to get your ass to class."

I nod. "Don't I know it."

"I hold myself to a routine. Up at seven, gym at eight. Writing six pages a day, dressing my best. Enough about me, though. What're your interests?"

Mom's hot friends. "Lots of things. Running. History. Trying new foods. Hoping to someday be an interesting person."

She cocks her head. "Girls?"

I'm more interested in MILFs. "Of course."

She smiles. "Your mom said you were dating that delightful blonde girl from the ice cream place."

"Emma. It ran its course."

"No one else in the picture?" she asks.

"Not really."

She sips tea, studying me. "You know, if you'd like to make some more money while you're home on break. I could use you around here."

Sign me up!

"Sure. I could always use extra cash."

"I need a new vent fan in the bathroom upstairs," she says.

"I can do that."

"Take a look at it before you go."

I finish my tea and she shows me the bathroom upstairs. She flips the switch for the fan and it lurches to life, squealing and screeching.

She turns it off. "Isn't it dreadful?"

"Let me get up there so I can measure the opening."

She smiles. "I have a stepstool in the closet."

Mrs. Loewenstein retrieves the stepstool. I climb onto it.

"Careful." She places her hand on the outside of my thigh to steady me. My pulse races, arousal flooding into my crotch. I hope she doesn't notice.

I measure the opening and step back down. "It's a standard one."

Mrs. Loewenstein steps towards me, closer than a casual acquaintance normally would. My heart pounds.

Holy fuck.

"We should exchange numbers," she says. "So you can send me links to what I need to buy."

I can barely breathe. "Sure."

We enter each other's numbers into our phones and she leads me back downstairs.

"One last thing," she says.

She goes into the living room and returns with a small book. She hands it to me.

I read the title. The Gertrude We Knew, by Miranda Loewenstein. "This is one of your books!"

"I think you'll like it."

"I can't wait to read it," I say.

"And I can't wait to hear what you think of it."

Our eyes meet again as I step out the door. I think I detect a glint of mischief in her expression. I glance back at her front door as I'm getting in my car.

I'm dreaming. Must be.

_____________

I'm hooked from the opening paragraph. Douglas C-47s fly in formation towards the French coast. It's 1am on June 6th, 1944.

Damn.

Two best friends in the 101st Airborne make the jump into Normandy. Charlie and Jack land safely but near a Nazi barracks. German voices are calling out in the dark, drawing closer. Our heroes crouch down, raising their rifles.

What a start!

The story shifts to a year earlier. Charlie and Jack arrive in the UK, training for war and running around with British women. One night at a pub, a barmaid takes an interest in Charlie. She's described as a beautiful brunette in her forties with a huge rack.

Go, Charlie!

I turn the page. After prolonged flirting, her and Charlie step into the supply closet. They start making-out. Mrs. Loewenstein's prose is vivid, and she doesn't pull any punches. She describes their tongues all over each other and how Charlie grabs her breasts. Then the barmaid drops to her knees and--holy shit!--gives him a blowjob.

"Fuck," I whisper.

I read on. Mrs. Loewenstein treats the reader to a vivid description of Charlie coming in her mouth. I guess that's what she meant by not Romance per se. Is Court of the Empress just as explicit?

The plot progresses. Charlie and Jack develop a shared attraction for a British servicewoman named Gertrude who was raised in an artist's colony and has a bohemian outlook. She's a gorgeous, buxom redhead.

Hmm. Sounds like someone I know.

Charlie and Jack both fall hard for her and she starts to come between them. The classic love triangle against a backdrop of war. Mrs. Loewenstein makes it work, though. Maybe it's the vivid love scenes in which Gertrude has sex with Charlie then with Jack on successive nights. Things finally come to a head, though, and there's a confrontation where they demand she make a choice of one.

She shakes her head. "Why must I choose? Why must love only take one form, or be restricted to one person? Or one at a time, for that matter?"

Holy shit. Mrs. Lowenstein is going there, isn't she?

I turn the page. The guys reluctantly agree, after much hemming and hawing. Things are nervous and awkward at first, but Gertrude moves things along. A lengthy, detailed description of Gertrude banging both of them follows.

Mrs. Loewenstein wrote this? That's so fucking hot.

I lock my bedroom door and strip down. Mom's out again even though it's late. Doesn't matter. I always lock the door, home alone or not. Laying back in bed, I close my eyes and imagine Mrs. Loewenstein kissing me. Deep, intense kissing. Fuck, yeah. I picture myself on top of her, pounding away at her pussy while she wraps her arms around my shoulders. Holding me tight.

"Fuck me," she'd whisper in my ear. "Fuck me."

"Mrs. Loewenstein," I moan as I come hard.

I clean myself up, get dressed again, and go back to reading.

Jack and Charlie are in Normandy. There's a harrowing sequence where they're almost captured but French Resistance fighters help them escape. By the time our heroes make it back to England, it's December. The book ends with them reuniting with a pregnant Gertrude. With whose baby it's impossible to know.

Wow.

I've never read anything quite like it. Sex, sex, sex bookended by World War II action. Told with understated elegance and power, though. I guess being a talented author is another thing to admire about Mrs. Loewenstein. She is spectacular.

Who am I kidding, though? She's an unobtainable fantasy. Yet every time she smiles at me or swats my arm my imagination is off and running. I remind myself that's all it is.

Imagination. Nothing more.

_________

I stir early, glancing at my clock. 7:30. I could sleep for a few more hours. Yeah, that'd be nice. But Mrs. Loewenstein intrudes into my thoughts and not in the usual way. I picture her standing by the foot of my bed, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"Reject mediocrity," she says.

She's right. What am I accomplishing laying around like this? I get up and find paper and a marker. I write her words in all-caps and tape it to the mirror in my bathroom.

I go through the usual morning routine while composing a mental list of all the things I could get done instead of sleeping the day away.

Starting with a morning run. Yeah, then swing by the library. If I'm lucky, Mrs. Slobotkin will be working. She'll show me her latest recommendations in the History section, smiling the whole time. She's so damn hot. Too bad she won't ask if I could come over to her place, maybe to help her with something. One thing would lead to another.

I sigh. Why can't real life be more like that?

_________

"Give it a try," I say.

Mrs. Loewenstein turns the switch. The new bathroom fan whirrs to life with a quiet hum. "So much better! I wonder what else I can find for you to do around here."

How about you?

Mrs. Loewenstein turns off the fan and I follow her downstairs. She reaches into her purse and opens her wallet. She hands me money. "I don't have anything smaller. Keep the difference."

"Sure. Thanks."

"Big evening planned?" she asks.

I shrug. "Maybe grab something from Gio's."

Her hand brushes my forearm. "Pizza alone? You poor thing."

"It's alright."

She looks into my eyes. "It doesn't sound alright. Why don't I make us something? Unless you'd rather not hang out with a lady your mom's age."

Yes, please! "I don't want to be a bother."

Mrs. Loewenstein shakes her head. "Stop saying that. You're the opposite of a bother."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

She takes my hand casually and guides me towards the kitchen table. "Please, sit. Relax. Let me get you something to drink."

I sit, my heart racing. "What do you have?"

She pauses. "A college man like you probably wants a beer. I only have white wine on hand at the moment. That okay?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"You might not be of legal drinking age," she says. "But I don't think one little glass of wine will do any harm."

"All the same," I say. "We probably shouldn't mention it to Mom. She might arrest you. I swear, she thinks I'm a little kid."

Mrs. Loewenstein retrieves a bottle of wine from the fridge. "You definitely aren't a little kid. You, young man, are all grown up and then some."

Wait. Was that flirty?

She fills two glasses and hands me one. "I hope you're in the mood for something light. What are your feelings on a dinner omelet?"

"I'd love one." I gingerly take a sip of wine. Beer, I've gotten used to. Wine, not so much. Too sour.

"Omelets are common for dinner in many countries," she says. "France, especially."

I nod along, pretending like I already knew that. I'm not surprised she does, though. I bet she knows all sorts of sophisticated, cultured things. What wine goes with what cheese or whoever the Pre-Raphaelites were.

We talk more as she works the stove with casual precision, sipping her drink. I admire the fit of her outfit, a pink blouse with a white floral pattern, white skirt, and pink high heels.

"Sweetie, would you mind setting the table?" She asks. "Napkins are over there, forks and knives in the drawer to the left."

Sweetie? I like that.

I set the table. She arranges the food on plates and we sit down to eat.

"Egg white omelets stuffed with spinach, goat cheese, and diced pancetta," she says. "Try some."

Goat cheese? Pancetta? Well, I did tell her I like trying new foods. "Do you always eat like this?"

She nods. "Rejecting mediocrity extends to my meals. Try some."

I take a bite. It's a perfect blend of flavors and textures. I should've known Mrs. Loewenstein was a kick-ass cook. Betcha she's great at everything. "Wow. I love it."

She brushes my forearm with her hand. "I'm glad, sweetie."

Sweetie again! I take another bite. "It's amazing."

"Did you happen to get a chance to read any of my book?" Mrs. Loewenstein asks.

"The entire thing."

Her face lights up. "What'd you think?"

"I couldn't put it down."

"What was your favorite part?"

The threesome. "The beginning reeled me right in. That image of the paratroopers jumping into the darkness. And the part near the end where they had to shoot their way through the German position."

She nods. "The war scenes. Anything else?"

"Other parts."

"You don't need to be embarrassed to tell me," she says. "After all, you're talking to the one who wrote it."

I shrug. "Then you know."

She gives me a knock-off-the-bullshit look.

"The sex scenes," I say.

"Was that so hard? What'd you like about them?"

I sip wine, surprised by how well it goes with the omelet. Maybe this stuff ain't that bad. "I liked how everyone was constantly horny. Not just horny, but obsessed with sex. At first I didn't get it."

"Go on," she says.

"They're young people facing the possibility of sudden death. In a time like that, the usual norms go out the window."

She grins ear-to-ear, squeezing my hand. "Very insightful. But what specifically did you like about the sex scenes?"

How about Gertrude getting spitroasted? "They were rather vivid."

"Well, you know, I do my research."

That was light years beyond flirty, wasn't it?

Mrs. Loewenstein smiles, meeting my gaze. We finish our food. She takes the dishes and places them in the sink.

I follow her. "Let me help you with those."

She turns, staring into my eyes. "They can wait. May I ask you something?"

My pulse races. "Of course"

She steps closer. "How good are you at keeping your mouth shut?"

"Depends."

Mrs. Loewenstein steps closer. Her orange blossom scent fills my nostrils. "Let me posit the question in a different manner."

"Sure."

She wets her lips. "Could you keep it to yourself if we were to fuck?"

What? What did she say? I manage a nod.

"Relax." She inches closer, looking up at me. Her eyes are more gray than blue in this light.

Say something. Anything.

Mrs. Loewenstein's expression softens. She takes my hand in hers. "Breath normal. In and out. Go on. Much better. May we be completely forthright?"

I nod.

She shakes her head. "Use your words, sweetie."

"Sure," I say.

"You know, you overuse that particular word." Mrs. Loewenstein runs her hand up my arm. "There's no need to be coy. I notice how flustered you get around me. At the risk of sounding egotistical, I'm aware of my effect on men."

"Sure... I mean, yes, you certainly have an effect on me."

She smiles. "You know what's a key quality for a successful author to have? Understanding humans."

"Makes sense."

"And I understand humans. Women, and men. Especially men, but that's no big feat. Shall I prove it?"

My pulse races. "Go ahead."

"You've been jerking off fantasizing about me, haven't you? Especially since you were over last week. Picturing me sucking your dick. But you're more interested in going down on me, aren't you?"

My eyes grow wide. "How?"

"Understanding humans. If this works out, it could be a regular thing. A fuckbuddy relationship. Does that appeal to you?"

"It does," I say.

"But we need to establish a few ground rules first. Ready?"

I nod.

"First rule, keep your mouth shut." She taps my lips with her index finger. "Any hint you've been less than absolutely discreet, and it'd be over. No more access to what you want most in the world."

"Understood."

"Second rule, do not fall in love. Got it?"

"Got it," I say.

"You young guys always think you won't, but then you get all emotional. That's why I'm up front. This is about fun and friendship. The second you get lovey-dovey and start talking about wanting more, it's over. Got it?"

I take a breath. I can't believe I'm having this conversation. "Got it."

"Finally, this isn't exclusive in any way. I have other sex partners. If you measure up and are amenable to the idea, you'd be joining a regular rotation. Understand that beforehand."

"Understood."

"That goes both ways," she says. "You're going back to school next week. Pursue whatever opportunities that may present themselves. Comprehend?"

"Fully."

"All of it? Promise me."

I look deep into those ever-changing eyes of hers. They're gray right now with flecks of dark purple. "I promise."

She smiles. "Come here."

Mrs. Loewenstein drapes her hands across the back of my neck, pulling me towards her. We kiss. I'm paralyzed. Shocked. Freezing up for a moment before instinct takes over. I wrap my arms around her shoulders. Our tongues twirl.

She withdraws, her hands still on the back of my neck. "I bet you've been dreaming of that for a long time."

"Uh-huh."

Mrs. Loewenstein caresses my cheek with the back of her fingertips. "Still a little nervous? That's fine. Once we get going, it'll pass. I'll bring out the animal in you."

My pulse races. I'm so turned on it hurts. I pull her tight. The feel of her big boobs against my chest sends a surge of arousal racing through me.

I kiss her mouth hard, gathering her even closer. Any initial nervousness is gone.

I kiss her neck and she sighs. "I need to ask you something before we go further."

"Anything."

"Are you a virgin?" she asks.

"No. There was Emma, then two girls last semester."

"I'm glad," she says. "Virgins mean I have to take things sweet and easy. I'm not the biggest fan of sweet and easy. Now tell me what you want to do to me.

"Everything."

She kisses my neck. "All in good time. Or shall I start?"

"Please."

"I'll begin by sucking your dick. Down on my knees, slurping and slobbering all over it. How's that sound?"

Holy shit. "Incredible."

She smiles. "Then I'll get on all fours and stick my fine ass up in the air. So you can fuck me from behind. Sound good?"

I can't imagine anything better. "Yeah."

Mrs. Loewenstein locks eyes with me. "Now tell me. Don't hold back, or I'll know."

There's no need to be shy with her, is there? "I want to eat your pussy. No, more than just eat it. Worship it."

She smiles naughtily. "My kind of man indeed. Shall we proceed?"

"I'd love that, Mrs. Lowenstein."

"Miranda. From now on, call me Miranda."

__________

Mrs. Loewenstein--Miranda!--leads me upstairs. We fall into each other's arms the moment we step into her bedroom. Holding each other tight, kissing wildly.

"You're so damn beautiful," I say.

Miranda pulls my hoodie up and over my head. She tosses it aside and does the same with my t-shirt. Not wasting any time, is she?

She runs her eyes over my torso and smiles. "Oh, my. Such a compact, lean build."

Miranda undoes the front of my jeans. I back off, stepping out of them and peeling off my socks. I'm down to my boxers, my cock bulging inside them.

"Go ahead," she says. "Drop 'em."

Oh, boy. Here we go.

Down go my boxers, up go Miranda's eyebrows. "Are you aware you're, let's call it above average?"

"I've been told," I say.

"Jackpot!" Miranda kisses me, grabbing my cock. Stroking it to full hardness. I struggle to comprehend how this is actually happening. It's not a dream, not a fantasy. Miranda--the incomparable Mrs. Loewenstein--is jerking me off. How can this be?

She kisses the side of my neck, jerking me faster. It's arousing being naked while she's clothed. I didn't expect that. It's like I'm her sex toy.

Yes! That's exactly what I am!

Miranda licks her lips, locking eyes with me while stroking my cock. "I love how hard it is. Who made it this hard?"

"You."

"Damn straight," she says. "And that's not the only thing I'm gonna make it do."

Mrs. Loewenstein--Miranda, I remind myself again--squats down in front of me. Gazing up at me, she licks my balls. Once, twice, three times. She runs her tongue slowly up my cock, then over the head in circles. She takes me into her mouth, eyes still locked on mine, pumping the base as she sucks it.

I'm transfixed. The sight of her sucking my cock is almost too much to process. She's good at it, too. Jerking, licking, kissing. Taking her time. Yeah. That's what sets this apart from other blowjobs I've received. This time, the goal isn't to get me off. It's to get me worked up into a lather. And it's working.

Miranda jerks my cock. "Enjoying yourself?"

"So much."

"Good." She resumes sucking my cock. Giving me a minute or so of vigorous cocksucking before backing off again. "I think it's time this dick was put to good use."

Miranda stands. I unbutton her blouse, kissing her neck. Until the front is open and I'm pushing it off her shoulders.

I place my hands on her hips, running my fingers over the top of her skirt. How does one get this thing off? She senses my confusion, unhooking something on the side and wiggling out of it. Down to bra and panties.

Unbelievable.

I look her up and down. "You're so beautiful."

She places her hands on either side of my face and kisses me deep. I can't get enough of her mouth. I could kiss her for hours. Slobbering over her lips and enjoying her tongue. Hours and hours and hours.

I reach around to undo her bra, fumbling with it. Miranda comes to my rescue again, stepping back and unclasping it. She lets it drop, freeing her tits.

Damn!

Such perfection! They're big and full with bright pink areola and erect nipples. A few delightful freckles scattered upon them and a dime-sized mole towards the top of her left tit. They hang down more than the girls I've been with, but that's fine. More than fine.

I push her panties down over her silky smooth thighs. Her muscular thighs are those of a woman who takes her workouts seriously.

Her panties fall to the floor and she steps out of them. Miranda stands nude before me. How is this dream of dreams coming true?

Miranda drapes her hands around the back of my neck, pulling me towards her for another kiss. Her hard nipples press into my skin, my erection rubbing against the roughness of her trim red bush.

I'm in heaven. This is heaven.

My hands run down her back and onto her ass. I clutch her ass cheeks.

"You like my ass?" Miranda whispers.

"So goddamn much," I say. "I've dreamed about it. I want to worship it. I want to worship you. Every inch of you."

"And you will."

I squeeze her butt, pulling her closer. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, her tits smashed tighter against my chest. We slide into bed, laying on our sides facing one another. Miranda caresses the side of my face, stroking my cock with her other hand.

I run my own hand over the edge of her hip and onto her thigh. "I love your body so much."

"Then partake of its delights."

My eyes drink her in. What a sight! Curvy yet fit. Big tits and womanly hips. All that red hair and those ever-changing eyes. Accompanied by mature sophistication and elegance. Every older woman fantasy I've ever had come to life.

I run my hand back up her thigh. Over the curve of her hip and onto a breast. We stare into each other's eyes as I knead it. Savoring its feel, appreciating its size.

"What was it you said about eating my pussy?" she asks.

"Lay back."

"Gotta ask first," Miranda says. "Have you ever gone down on a woman before?"

I nod. "Not as much as I'd like and I'm not sure I was any good."

Miranda caresses my shoulder. "Care for a little coaching along the way?"

"Please!"

"I like your attitude," Miranda says.

"Instruct me. I place myself under your tutelage, my mistress."

Miranda smiles. "Very well, my young padawan. The first rule to keep in mind when making love to a woman is 'she comes first.' Whoever she is."

"She comes first," I say.

"Getting off is a simple matter for the man. It's straightforward. Not so much for the lady. That's why you have to make sure she's gotten off before you do."

I nod. "I want to satisfy you. More than anything!"

"And you will," she says. "Since I'm going to tell you exactly how to do it. First, get me all worked up. Ease your way down my body, kissing and caressing as you go."

She lays back and I crawl atop her. I plant kisses on her neck.

Miranda sighs. "Now ease your way down. Worship my tits."

I give her more kisses on the other side of her neck, working my way down her body. Reaching her tits and squeezing the left one.

"Show me how much you adore my tits," she moans. "Suck them. Nibble them, too. Pinch them, twist them. Go to town."

I suck both tits in turn. Hard, hungry sucking. I'm desperate to prove how much I adore them. How much I adore her. I go back-and-forth, delighting in her breasts.

"That's so good," she moans.

I twist her nipple.

Miranda gasps. "Fuck, yes!"

I keep at it, sucking one nipple while pinching or twisting the other one. I throw in some gentle nibbling.

"Damn," she moans. "Now you've got me all worked-up."

I smile. "That's what you told me to do."

"Good boy," she moans. "It's gonna be so much fun teaching you. Now get started on that pussy."

I give each tit a long suck then pinch both nipples simultaneously,

Miranda sighs. "Fuck!"

I kiss my way down her belly, settling in between her legs. She parts them for me.

"Start by kissing my thighs," she moans. "Build up to it. Always start out slow. That's rule number two."

Always start slow. Noted.

I kiss the inside of her thigh. I turn my head, kissing the inside of her other thigh. I go back and forth, working my way closer to her pussy.

"That's it," she says. "Tease me, but only a little. Now eat my pussy. I like a few slow, long licks to start."

As you wish.

I extend my tongue and lick her pussy from just above her butthole all the way to the top. Miranda moans in response.

I lick her again, inhaling her musty aroma. It's surreal, yet here I am. Eating Miranda's pussy, breathing in her scent. Buried in her womanhood. The best place to be in the known universe.

"Just like that," she moans.

I lick her pussy the way she likes, over and over.

"Now speed up," she moans. "Just a little."

I lick her faster.

Miranda whimpers. "Lick my clit."

I press my tongue against the top of her pussy, searching for her button. I locate it, licking it up and down, applying pressure.

Miranda gasps. "You know more than you let on. Keep going!"

I oblige her, licking her clit faster. Sliding a finger inside her pussy.

"Finger me, also," she moans. "But don't stop licking my clit. Don't you dare stop!"

I obey, fingerfucking her and licking her clit. Savoring her moans as her head turns side to side. I speed up my licking and add a second finger.

Miranda squeals louder.

I'm the one doing this for her! Me!

"I'm gonna fucking come!" Miranda lets out a high-pitched squeal, her pussy clamping down on my fingers.

I'm making her come! I'm making her come!

She exhales. "Ease up now, sweetie."

I slow down, giving her gentle licking and fingering. Gotta give her time to catch her breath, after all. I kiss her pussy, breathing in her aroma.

"That was great," she moans. "But now we gotta get that cock inside my pussy."

"I like the sound of that."

"I thought you might," she says. "And you know how I want it."

"I may recall."

Miranda gets on all fours, thrusting her ass upwards. I move into position behind her, pointing my cock towards her pussy.

"Make sure it's wet," she says. "Lubrication is key."

I spit in my hand and stroke my cock. Getting it wet for her. I ease it inside her, getting it about halfway inside.

"Now pull back," she says.

I pull back.

"Push it back in," she says. "All the way."

I thrust into her again, burying my entire length. We gasp simultaneously.

"Fuck me nice and slow," she says. "Remember, it's not a race. Yeah, that's it. Just like that, just like that."

I follow her instructions, fucking her with deliberate slowness. Enjoying the feel of her warm pussy wrapped around my dick. And the sight of it sliding in and out of her.

"Now speed up," she moans.

I fuck her faster, my hands on her ass cheeks. Clutching them as I pound her.

"That's it," she sighs. "Fuck, yeah!"

"Your pussy feels so good," I moan.

"Then fuck it hard!"

I penetrate her as deep as I can, driving my cock into her with forceful thrusts.

"That's it," she cries. "Keep fucking me hard! Smack my ass! Smack my ass while you fuck me!"

I give her ass a smack.

"That's all you got?" she says.

I smack her ass again, harder than before.

"Yeah! That's it! Smack my ass and fuck me hard!"

I smack her ass again, drilling her with every ounce of energy I can summon.

"Fuck!" She howls. "I'm gonna come again!"

I don't let up. Not for a moment. My whole being right now is all about fucking her. About directing every last ounce of my all-consuming lust into her.

Miranda lets out a loud, sustained howl.

She's coming again! I made her come again! I did it!

"That was great," she says. "Now come inside me, babe. Satisfy yourself. Go on, gimme your cum. Fuck me, FUCK ME!"

Her words spur me on. I feel the tingle in my dick that tells me my orgasm will be soon.

"FUCK ME!" she cries.

I'm close. Real close. It'll be any moment. Any moment.

My cock throbs inside her. I bury it deep, holding it in place. Pulse after pulse bringing jolts of pleasure and relief all at once. Joy beyond joy washing over me.

Yes!

"Well done, Sweetie," Miranda moans. "Fuck, that was good."

I thrust into her slowly, savoring every last twitch of my cock. I pull out, laying back. I'm spent. I stare at the ceiling trying to wrap my brain around the fact that I've made love to Miranda Loewenstein.

___________

We lay together, arms wrapped around each other.

"How're you feeling?" Miranda asks.

"Amazing. How about you?"

"If you must know," she says. "I'm rather pleased with myself."

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I have a sixth sense about finding worthy new young lovers."

"Have you had a lot of younger guys?" I ask.

"I hope that's not a problem."

"The opposite, in fact," I say. "I think it's hot. The sexy MILF and her stable of young stallions."

"My stable of young stallions? I like that. It's getting me horny even thinking about it."

"If you're horny, I'm here to help."

Miranda laughs. "I'm going to enjoy mentoring you. Just remember, no lovey-dovey."

"No lovey-dovey," I say.

"Now how about a snack?"

"Sounds good," I say. "But I have a question first."

She turns towards me. "Ask away."

"How many other stallions are in your stable right now?"

She smiles. "You make four. Plenty to keep a girl busy. I've juggled as many as five. I told you, I love being a woman."

"You should." I say. "You're so damned good at it."

__________

I get home late. I'm surprised Mom's car isn't in the driveway. She pulls in a few minutes after me. She walks into the kitchen as I'm contemplating the contents of the fridge.

"Hey, honey," she says. "How'd things go with Mrs. Loewenstein?"

I freeze. "What?"

Mom raises an eyebrow, smiling. People say I have the same smile as her. Same green eyes and light brown hair, too. My friends tease me about having a "hot mom" but I don't see it.

"Her bathroom fan," Mom says.

"Yeah, that. It went right in. No hassle."

Mom takes off her jacket, then removes her holster and her badge. She leaves them on the kitchen counter.

"Did you just get home now?" she asks.

"Yeah. I hung out with some friends after Miranda's. Mrs. Loewenstein, I mean. How about you?"

She gives me an enigmatic look. "Dinner with a friend."

Till after midnight? Okay. "That's nice."

"Are you hungry?" Mom asks. "I could make you something."

"No thanks," I say. "I got something at Gio's. I think I'll just go to bed."

"Sweet dreams."

I go upstairs and change into my pajamas. I don't like lying, but what am I supposed to say? The truth? Yeah, that would go over big. Plus, I promised Miranda.

Whatever. Mom doesn't need to know anything about my sex life anyway.

I lay back and think of Miranda, recalling the feel of her in my arms. The mere thought arouses me. I stroke my cock a few times and feel it growing erect.

I slide out of bed and lock the door.

_____________

End Notes:

- I hope you enjoyed the first installment of MILFtown, New Jersey! All subsequent chapters have already been written and will appear here in quick succession so keep an eye out for them.

- Thanks to DJMac1031 for his advice during the creative process. Special thanks to Prettylynne for her help with the title. I'm privileged to have author friends like them. Both are very talented writers whose work you should check out.

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- It may be important to specify that no elements of incest will appear in this series. Neil's mom is described as a "hot mom" but that isn't laying the groundwork for sexual attraction or tension between them.

- Find my complete works here. For those interested in learning more about me and my writing, check out the interview I gave to fellow Literotica author Bob_Aganoush. Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are always appreciated.