If all mid-life crises sizzled like Pamela’s, everybody would want one.
Pamela, divorced and forty, shocks herself when she volunteers to be the next participant in the Fantasy Guild’s sexy escapades. Sure, she’s lonely, and not yet ready to consign herself to a dull middle-aged existence — but agreeing to a group encounter with a gang of lusty men she’s never met — what kind of freaky mid-life crisis is this?
Then she recalls a favorite fantasy, back when she was still married and spent hours lounging in the sun, lazily watching the six-packed pool boy at his labors. She remembers the brawny gardener, too, and the handyman whose tool belt hung appealingly on his slim hips. In her imagination, they masterfully wielded the tools of their trades.
Pamela soon discovers that old daydreams are well worth revisiting, when thanks to the guild, her fantasy is transformed into tantalizing reality.
Explicit language and red-hot sex scenes suitable only for adults. One curvy housewife, three younger hired hands, and a surprise or two, meet poolside for a steamy afternoon not to be forgotten.
This sample of Pamela and the Hired Hands contains explicit language and is only suitable for adults.
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Pamela and the Hired Hands
Fantasy Guild #2
ONE EVENING, NOT SO long ago, some women gathered for their regular meeting. They called themselves The Ladies Naughty Book Club, a discussion group dedicated to sharing a love of erotic novels and stories.
The members of the LNBC were perfectly normal, respectable women, some married, some not, some dating, some single. For all that they loved a spicy read, they weren’t particularly sexually adventurous themselves. No, they held their wild sides in check, living vicariously through the fictional heroines in the stories they read.
Then a woman named Jasmine, on that one momentous evening, made an audacious suggestion. Why shouldn’t they live out their fantasies in real life? Brash Jasmine was ready to turn her daydreams into reality, and she wanted to start right away by planning her own gangbang, or group encounter as some of the ladies preferred to call it.
Reactions were mixed, but everyone wanted to hear how Jasmine’s experience went. So they formed the Fantasy Guild, and all agreed to meet once more when Jasmine’s night of passion was complete and she could report on the results of her experiment.
Jasmine’s fantasy turned out to be far beyond her and everyone else’s expectations, and the ladies thrilled to her sexy tale of a high stakes poker game gone wild. And so the fledgling group had its first success.
But one success doesn’t guarantee permanence. If the Fantasy Guild were to survive, there was a critical question yet to be answered …
Jasmine’s question hung in the air. The twelve ladies present for the first official meeting of the Fantasy Guild waited for a volunteer with eager anticipation. Most of them had no intention of stepping forward, not then and not in the foreseeable future. There were a few, however, who debated the possibilities.
Pamela stared at the floor, the ceiling, her hands, the far wall. She stared wherever she was least likely to encounter someone else’s gaze. Freya would volunteer, Pamela thought. Freya had said she was interested, she’d said it the night they formed the guild. She’d be the most likely to go next.
But Freya didn’t say anything. Pamela risked a peep in her direction. Freya studied her fingernails as if the answers to the meaning of life could be found in her cuticles.
So then. Freya wasn’t going to step up.
Jasmine sighed loudly. “Really, ladies. I can’t be the only one here who wants to do this. I mean, you all joined up.”
“Oh,” said Margie, “it’s not that I don’t want to do it, it’s just that I can’t figure out a way to get my husband to let me cheat on him — with four or five men at the same time.”
Several of the other married women tittered, agreed.
“I don’t mean you,” said Jasmine. “We’ve already been over that. I mean those who are single. Come on. No big deal. It’s just a little gangbang.”
Just a little gangbang. Pamela would have laughed out loud if it weren’t for the queasy feeling in her stomach. A little gangbang. No biggie.
How, exactly, had it come to this? A few years ago Pamela read a popular erotic novel, joined a book club (The Ladies Naughty Book Club), read more sexy books, then some smutty books, then more … and the next thing she knew, the Fantasy Guild was formed and they were calling for volunteers to participate in multiple partner sex.
All Jasmine’s fault, really. She was the one who told them that they should act on their fantasies and stop living vicariously through fictional characters. And then, of course, Jasmine had gone and actually done it.
It was a slow and steady build-up, a winding path that led to this moment in time and space when someone said to Pamela, with a straight face no less, that volunteering to be gangbanged was no big deal.
Laughing would have been the appropriate response to that statement. So why wasn’t Pamela laughing?
Perhaps it was because she was actually considering stepping up, following in Jasmine’s footsteps and allowing a group of men to fuck her silly, all at the same time. Hence the queasy feeling in her stomach.
She was forty years old, too old for sexual shenanigans, she told herself. Probably, she was suffering from her mid-life crisis and this desire to go wild was her equivalent of a middle-aged man buying an overpriced sports car — the car having far more power and speed than the man could ever need, but he buys it anyway because he thinks he looks good driving it.
Yep. The Fantasy Guild was Pamela’s souped-up sports car.
Jasmine flipped her hair off her forehead and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t believe this is it. I go once and that’s it. What was the point in forming the guild? You just wanted to hear about my encounter and then go on your merry ways.”
Some of the women hung their heads. What Jasmine said was true, for several of them.
But not for Layla, the youngest and shyest in the club. “I said from the start that I wasn’t interested. I told you that I’d never want to have all those men on … yuck.”
“I know. I know,” said Jasmine. “I don’t mean you. But a few of you told me you’d be interested in going after I did. And now you’re all backing out and that’s a bunch of —”
“I’ll do it.”
The words were softly spoken, tentative in tone, but loud enough to be heard by the other women, loud enough to interrupt Jasmine’s growing anger.
Everyone turned to look at the speaker — Pamela.
Pamela’s mouth went dry. Had she actually said “I’ll do it” out loud?
“Good for you!” Jasmine glowed. “You’re going to love it. These guys that Geoff found are fabulous.”
Pamela stared at her, wide-eyed and seriously considering running from the room, never to return, never to speak to any of these crazy women again.
But she didn’t run. She sat still while the others congratulated her, told her they were jealous, that she’d have a great time, and that they couldn’t wait to hear all about it.
And then Jasmine was taking her aside and asking what her fantasy was, and telling her it was okay if she didn’t know yet, that she’d give her a day or two to figure it out. She’d call Pamela, get the details. They’d work it out.
Then the meeting was breaking up, and she was saying goodbye, getting in her car. She drove home to her empty apartment, made some tea, stripped off her clothes and climbed into a hot bath.
No one was there to hear her, when the realization of what she’d done hit home, made her drop her teacup in the bathtub. When her jaw fell open a split second before she said …
“What the hell have I done?”
FUNNY THING IN LIFE, how the longer you consider something, the less shocking it becomes. It’s simply a matter of becoming accustomed to what was previously an unknown. Like staying in a hotel room for more than one night. That first night, you know you’re in a strange place, that it isn’t home, no matter how nice it is. Stay in that same room for a few more nights, and you’ll be calling it home without a second thought.
By the next day, Pamela was feeling less overwhelmed by her impulsive decision. She managed to admit to herself that she kind of actually sort of in a way wanted to be in a gangbang. Or group encounter. She preferred to call it that, in her head. Group encounter was so much more … savory.
Whatever she called it, she spent some time considering what her fantasy was, should she actually sort of kind of in a way go ahead and do it.
She wound up choosing a fantasy from real life, from a time which was different, when she was still married, before her ass of an ex-husband divorced her to marry someone else. To marry someone who liked sex, he’d told her, unlike Pamela, the ice queen. That’s what he’d called her. The ice queen. How original. What an ass.
Pamela believed him at the time, believed that she was frigid. It took her some time, several years in fact, to realize that maybe the problem wasn’t with her, maybe it was with her husband.
He never turned her on. Not even once. Pamela didn’t realize it until she started reading erotic novels, and discovered what it felt like to actually get aroused. And that’s when she realized her ex-husband was an ass and she was better off without him.
Thank you, naughty stories, she had thought more than once.
She was now in a position to, perhaps, thank those stories again. She was preparing to live out one of her oldest fantasies, one which, at the time she first had the daydream, she wouldn’t admit even to herself that it was something she truly wanted.
But she did want it. And so, she called Jasmine and told her everything about it. Jasmine assured her it would be no problem bringing her wishes to life, explained how Geoff would arrange it. Everyone would make sure it was perfect.
All Pamela had to do was secure the location and arrive at the appointed hour.
By the time several more days passed and most of the details were in place, Pamela didn’t remember that there was a time when she questioned volunteering to be the Fantasy Guild’s second participant.
She only wondered why she’d waited so long to step up.
PAMELA LEANED BACK IN the lounger and adjusted the wide brim of her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes. It was a beautiful day, warm and cloudless, perfect for lazing around the pool. She couldn’t have asked for better weather. Perfect for a group encounter.
From behind her dark sunglasses, she eyed the pool boy as he dragged a net over the surface of the blue water, sifting out whatever didn’t belong there. He, too, was perfect. Young, though. Couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five, twenty-six years old.
His name was Sean. And his muscular, tanned torso was bare in the sun, his washboard stomach a temptation that made her fingertips itch to play over the hard ridges. He wore a pair of aged jeans, ripped in all the right places and hugging his tight rear end.
Behind her dark glasses, Pamela watched him with impunity, thoroughly enjoying her Mrs. Robinson moment. And anyway, Sean wasn’t actually a pool boy. She didn’t even own the pool he was cleaning.
Pamela had rented the house for the day from a real estate friend. The home had been empty and on the market for over a year, and her friend must have shown it a thousand times without a bite. Sitting on a secluded hillside, it was a beautiful home, a massive rambling place with a gorgeous lawn and a giant pool. But it was overpriced and the owners refused to lower the asking.
Pamela’s friend had welcomed the opportunity to make a few bucks on the side renting the place for the day, figuring she’d earned it with all the time she’d wasted trying to sell it.
Sean stopped skimming and turned to look at Pamela stretched out on her lounger in her skimpy, red bikini. He rapidly scanned her figure, his appreciation apparent, before returning his gaze to her face.
“Sure is a nice place you’ve got here, Mrs. Hunter,” he said. “Don’t know why you’d want to sell it.”
Her last name wasn’t Hunter. She’d chosen it because she liked how it sounded.
She waved her hand in the air. “It’s Mr. Hunter’s fault. He’s moving his business offshore, so we’re giving up the place.”
“Losing your home is a big sacrifice to make.”
“Well, I’m happy to do it. He’s my husband, after all.”
He nodded. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll do my best to clean the pool up real nice so you can sell the house quick.”
A voice sounded from nearby. “Me too. I’ve almost got these hedges trimmed up.”
She smiled benevolently, and glanced to the side at the young man working a pair of clippers over a shrub. Kyle. Mmm. He was as delicious as Sean, shirtless, too, of a similar age and fitness level, but he was a sun-kissed blond where Sean was brunette.
“Thank you both,” she said. “I appreciate all your hard work.”
Kyle winked at her, a sexy impertinence that a woman of Mrs. Hunter’s standing might never have tolerated, not unless she had plans for said sexy winker. And this Mrs. Hunter most assuredly did have plans.
The two men returned to work and Pamela enjoyed their show. She felt all warm and fuzzy, basking in the sun in her bikini, anticipation curling in her belly, a low thrum working deep inside her. She sipped her mojito. This was the life.
An older woman in a maid’s uniform stepped out of the house.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Hunter,” the woman said, stopping next to Pamela’s lounger. “There’s a worker here. Says you hired him to do some repairs around the place.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot about him. Thank you, Angela. Send him out and bring me that list I left on the kitchen table.”
Pamela and the Hired Hands
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Pamela and the Hired Hands is approximately 70 pages long and contains explicit language and red-hot multiple partner sex scenes that are suitable only for adults.