Mary's MILF-Life Crisis

By Steph E. Strong

When Mary turns 41, she realizes she's unhappy with life and her marriage. So, she begins a series of scandalous affairs with anonymous people and experiments with multiple partners and group sex. Along the way, she realizes that she must make profound changes to her life to be a happier person.

WARNING! This collection of short stories contains graphic and explicit depictions of group sex between consenting adults. It is intended only for mature and adult readers over the age of 18.

EXCERPT:

In between songs, Cheryl visited the bar to get us another round of mixed drinks, and she snared the attention of some guy. I breathed a breath of frustration. It was like many other times I went out with her; she’d all be about girl power until the first guy showed her any attention. Then, I’d get ditched in favor of him. However, I wasn’t really mad at her – I was more peeved that she was single and I wasn’t. She could get away with such indiscretions, and I’d always get back to being the wallflower with an identity crisis. So, I went to the bar to get my own drink.

I stayed on the barstool, too. By now, about an hour and a half had passed. More and more people were filing into the club. Strangely, I found myself sitting on the stool with the best back posture I could muster. I was making sure my breasts and low-cut neck line stuck up and out more. What am I doing? I asked myself that and many other questions. Maybe it was the alcohol, but I started wanting a man's attention. I wanted to endure sloppy pick up lines – even if I was married with two kids. My husband had stopped treating sex as something special; for him, it was the Friday-night chore as routine as washing the car. It had been a long time since I felt pursued, conquered. Only, I tried to tamp down that desire. Normally, I didn’t think of myself as a cheater, and I was surprised that this sudden urge came over me. So, I silence, I just stirred my gin and tonic with my straw. I tried not to even look at Cheryl. She was on the dance floor and danced – practically dry humping – the guy that had just talked to her.

For awhile, I just people watched as patrons milled around the bar or danced amidst strobe lights and a fog machine. I saw a number of hot guys, and in the back of my brain, I wondered what it would be like to have a man other than Andre. I mean, I had 15 years of monogamy – two as a couple before I became pregnant with my daughter. The more I thought about it, the more I just wanted to drink. Sure, I wasn’t unhappy with life; I felt bored more than anything. Maybe I was just trying to overthink happiness and unhappiness. That was before a question snapped me out of my gloom.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I turned my head, seeing practically a boy sitting next to me. He couldn’t have been much older than 23. That, I was sure of. He wore tight jeans and a black shirt that practically looked glued to him – it stretched over the contours of his muscles rather nicely. I thought to tell him to go away, but when I opened my mouth, “sure” came out. Even worse, when he turned his head to order from the bartender, I found myself slipping my wedding ring off and dropping it into my tiny clutch bag ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: SmutHouse
• Release date: May 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215912416

Book preview

Mary’s MILF-Life Crisis

By

Steph E. Strong

Copyright 2023, Steph E. Strong

License Notes

The sexual situations depicted in this work of fiction involves only consenting adults above the age of 18. This is a work of fiction, and any similarities with real-life persons are purely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The cover is based on a royalty-free, licensed image downloaded from a stock photo agency. Use of this photo does not imply, in any way, shape, or form, an endorsement of the photographer, the stock photo agency, or the models of the content of this eBook.

Table of Contents

Hot at 41

Fit at 41

With No Need For His Name

Too Much For One Man

About the Author

Hot at 41

At least they didn’t try to cover the cake with a lot of candles. I knew my family cared, but I really wasn’t taking turning 41 all that well. My son’s gift consisted of a gallon bottle of some perfume that smelled more like gasoline than anything else. He bought it at the dollar store we often shop at – I recognized the brand. My thirteen-year-old daughter bought me a tangle of cheap jewelry from the same dollar store. Worst of all, Andre, my husband, gave me a stack of gift cards. Don't get me wrong; I ended using all of them gladly, but I had secretly wished for something more adventuresome. I wanted to feel special, and all that birthday did was make me feel like a boring housewife. I smiled all the same, keeping how I really felt inside. I ate my cake, imagined how long I’d have to stay on the treadmill to burn the resulting calories off, and I told them all how much I loved them. Deep down, I desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Still, I bided my time. Every year, my best friend and I treat each other’s birthdays as one of many excuses to have a girls’ night out.

On my way to Cheryl’s house, I stopped at the mall and bought the most short, flirty black dress I could find. When I arrived a Cheryl’s, she handed me glass of wine, and we sat in her living room a bit.

It’s not a big deal, she tried to console me.

Big for you to say, you’re still 38. I took a big gulp of my pinot noir.

Touché. But how is this any different than last year?

Last year, I turned 40, yes. But this is different. This year is confirmation that I’m an ugly, old bat – one that’s nine years closer to 50!

Oh, shut up. You look great.

No, I don’t, I pouted.

Yes, you do. You know, you’ve taken care of yourself. You’ve exercised when other women have let themselves go. You look gorgeous, Mary.

I sniffled. You’re my friend. You’re supposed to lie to make me feel better.

Cheryl poked into my bag. She pulled the garment box out of the bag and pulled the black dress out. She held it up by its thin shoulder straps. Um, can a 41 year-old cow look awesome in this?

Oh, I don’t know what got into me. I should just return it.

Cheryl shot me a glare. No, you won’t. Put it on.

But…

No buts about it; put it on!

I stood, snatched the slutty dress out of her clutches, and walked into the bathroom. About 45 minutes later, I reemerged with it on, and I had also done my cosmetics for the night – opting more for a simple powdering, as I didn’t want to make myself look like a painted whore. Don’t lie. I look silly.

Cheryl scowled at me. No. You. Don’t.

I lifted up the lower him of the short dress. But this barely covers my fat thighs!

Cheryl rolled her eyes at me. You don’t have fat thighs. She crossed her arms. You know, this gets really tiresome. I’m plus sized, I spend just as much time in the gym as you do, and I would kill to have your slender body. So, shut up, already.

I didn’t mean to hurt her. My lip quivered. I’m sorry. I threw my arms around her neck. I’m so, so sorry.

She choked back a tear or too. Me too. I was mean. She stepped back from our hug, a little. "Look, let’s not spend the night sniveling around the house together. Let’s