Sexual Electricity: A Horny MILF Story

By Alana Church

With a failing farm and a marriage on the rocks, sexy farm-wife Helen will do anything to bring in more money. When handsome young Ben comes by with an offer to install a solar farm, it seems too good to be true. Soon the pair are falling in love, and cucking her husband seems like a small price to pay for a little "Sexual Electricity!"

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

The lights were low, the television off. The only sound was the faint noises of the old farmhouse around them. Ben looked down at Helen. She returned his gaze. Hers was bold and unafraid.

“Helen,” he began.

“Yes?” Her pink lips were turned up, just a bit.

Ben wanted to say something witty, something suave, that would make Helen laugh. Would take down the barriers between them. But nothing would come. The older woman sensed his discomfort, it seemed. Her body shifted, facing him. Her pink lips parted.

It was an invitation. As clear as if it had been written down or spoken aloud. Ben took his courage in both hands. He moved one arm behind Helen. The other, he put on her hip. And then he bent and kissed her.

Oh, it was sweet. So sweet. Her lips were soft but firm, her mouth warm and open. She moaned, just a breath, as they tasted each other for the first time, tongues barely meeting, and her hands began to touch him in hesitant exploration. Her palms roamed over his chest, feeling at his pecs, and then slipped lower. There was a sudden temptation to suck in his belly, but he stifled it. His stomach was flat enough, thanks to a good diet and plenty of exercise.

And it seemed Helen agreed. “You’ve got a great body,” she murmured under her breath as their lips parted.

“Thanks.” He swallowed, trying to hide his hunger. She arched her back, just a bit, and then crawled into his lap, sitting on his thighs as she resumed their kiss.

“Yes. That’s nice,” she said. “Now we’re the same height.”

Ben chuckled, and then raised his arms as Helen tugged at his shirt. Once it was safely discarded, she began to explore his shoulders and chest with her lips and tongue. He shivered under her touch. But when he made a move to unbutton her blouse, she fended his hands away.

“We’ve got time,” she said. “Let’s take it slow, okay, Ben?” Her blue eyes twinkled at his sigh of disappointment. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. And you’ll end up happy. I promise.”

Her house. Her rules. But as Helen ran her hands over him, one of them massaging him with casual skill, Ben laid plans for getting her into a helpless position, sometime in the near future. He shifted away from her touch, afraid he might embarrass himself and explode before he got his pants off. Sensing his discomfort, Helen backed off, though her eyes held a happy, anticipatory gleam, and kissed him again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215893685

Alana Church

Born and raised in Illinois, Alana attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, graduating with a degree in Education in 1994. She soon found out that the teaching life was not for her, and after a series of adventures has settled down in the Chicago suburbs, where she works for a telecommunications company.Alana lives alone, surrounded by books, pictures, a pile of story ideas, and a turtle named Pedro.

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Sexual Electricity: A Horny MILF Story

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2023 Alana Church

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

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Chapter One

Funny, Ben Crestwood thought. You spend your entire life trying to get away from where you grew up, and when you finally have a decent job and some cash in the bank, you get sent back there.

Of course, if forced to strict honesty, Ben would concede that he had grown up two hours to the west of his current location. But when it came to small-town Illinois, it was all the same. Flat farmland, small, meandering rivers, and corn fields and soybeans laid out like a patchwork quilt. It didn’t matter if you were in Knox County, or Macoupin, or Edgar, or Morgan County, where Ben had been born and raised.

His lips thinned. Or fucking Ford County. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, memories from four years previously taunting him from the back of his mind.

Of course, it was more than a little silly to hold an entire county to blame for the actions of a few people. Ben shook his head, trying to dislodge the recollection. It was in the past, and he should be happy to let it stay there. Instead he focused on the countryside stretching out on either side of the two-lane highway, looking for the site he had seen on the satellite map earlier that morning. The summer sun shone down, making the cornfields shimmer like a green-gold blanket.

There. Ben squinted. It wasn’t really a hill. East-central Illinois didn’t have hills. But it was a south-facing slope, and for a wonder not planted in corn or soybeans. A farmer’s pasture, probably, set aside for hay for winter feed. His nose caught the familiar scent of alfalfa as he hit his blinker and turned off the highway onto a narrow county road. He slowed down, weaving back and forth to avoid potholes, some still filled with water from the thunderstorm the night before. Jesus Christ. Can’t the county afford to pave this thing?

A gravel road branched off to the right. A sign beside it read ‘Archer Farms.’ Ben took the turn, driving slowly, wincing as rocks kicked up from his tires and bounced off the undercarriage of his car with sharp pinging noises.

Eventually the road deposited him in the dooryard of a farmhouse. Built of brick and solidly foursquare, it rose two stories high. Ivy softened the face of it, but the green paint was peeling off the second-floor shutters, and Ben saw rust on the gutters and downspouts. An outbuilding sat off to the right, connected to the house by a cracked sidewalk, and maybe fifty yards beyond that a pair of barns sided in galvanized metal. An old Chevy pickup was parked neatly by the outbuilding. To one side was open pasture, where a few dozen cattle grazed and eyed him with bovine disinterest. On the other was a shaggy expanse of lawn, bordered by the inevitable cornfield.

A roar caught his ears, and in a few seconds a John Deere mower came around the side of one of the barns, guided by a woman perhaps ten years older than Ben himself. She was wearing work boots, faded jeans, and a chambray work shirt over a purple t-shirt, and hair the color of corn silk fluttered under a Chicago Cubs baseball cap, the bold blue faded by sun and weather to a washed-out periwinkle.

Ben raised his hand and walked forward, putting a friendly smile on his face. After a few seconds the woman noticed him and braked, cutting the motor of her mower.

Hi, Ben said, when he had closed the distance to a few feet. Mrs. Archer?

The woman nodded warily. Her eyes, Ben noticed, were same blue as her cap. I’m Helen Archer, she acknowledged.

Ben held out his hand. Ben Crestwood.

Helen nodded and took it. Her grip was firm, her fingers slightly calloused. A working woman’s hand. But that was no surprise. Not here on a farm. Nice to meet you, Ben. But I’m warning you now, she added, her glance taking in his sports jacket and his car. If you’re selling anything, we’re not buying.

Oh? Ben tried his most charming grin. What if I’m buying?

Helen’s eyes went flat, almost hostile. We’re not selling.

Oh. He raised his hands. Wait. Not that sort of buying. Trust me. I grew up in a farm town. I’m not some agribusiness asshole, looking for someone desperate to sell.

Good. The woman relaxed, just a little. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the wheel of the mower, and frowned at him. What do you want?

What if I told you that I wanted to give you a whole lot of money, and you wouldn’t have to do anything?

I’d tell you that there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, and that I’m smart enough to know that the lottery is a sucker’s bet.

Ben’s grin widened. I asked my father once why he never bought a scratch-off ticket. And he told me that the lottery is a tax on people who suck at math.

That got a reaction. Helen tilted her head back and laughed. She wasn’t a large woman. But the laugh seemed to fill the sky. Your daddy was a smart one, Ben. She stood up and brushed her hands on her jeans. "And now I’m a bit interested.

"Come into the house and I’ll give you something cool