Mother f cker a spicy re.., p.1
Mother F*cker: A Spicy Reverse Age Gap Novella (One Handed Holidays), page 1
MotherF*cker
A Spicy Reverse Age-Gap Novella
G. Eilsel
Copyright © 2024 G. Eilsel
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The artwork used in this book is created by G. Eilsel. Components of the images may be generated or edited by software that utilizes artificial intelligence.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various brands, products, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book is dedicated to the mom bods who rock their stretch marks and cellulite. The ones who want a man half their age with a raspy voice and giant dick to paint their face and rail them into next Tuesday.
And if you’re following the count, the word "cock" is used 123 times over 160 pages this time.
You're welcome.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Shopping list
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
One Handed Holidays
First Come, First Served
Shopping list
This book does not have trigger warnings, because if you're triggered by much, you're in the wrong place. This book is filled with nothing but nastiness.
If you're ready to read one-handed, continue. If not, don't say I didn't warn you.
Here's the good stuff:
Toys, out loud reading of a smut book, "teach me", marking, public/risky, premature cumshots, rimming, facials, cum play, condom play, edging, deep throating, irrumatio, praise, forced orgasm, restraining, rough sex, somnophilia, katoptronophilia
And in traditional fashion, way more cumshots and creampies than I could count.
Chapter 1
June
“Let me get this story straight. I want to make sure I’m crystal-clear about the words coming out of your mouth, so don’t fucking stutter.” John stares at me, stupidly, blinking like the brain-dead shitmuffin he is. “Did I not find you balls deep in your assistant?”
“Yes, but…”
“The same assistant who sent you a naked selfie ‘by accident’ last week?”
“Yes, but…”
My voice gets louder as I continue, filter disappearing as my temper slips through my fingers. “And did I not hear you say her tits are… what was it you said? Perky little pink bikini stuffers? Because, ew.”
Anger burns in my veins as my hands drag up and down my face, pushing my glasses up onto my head as my neck and cheeks flame. “My god, I am an idiot. First class fucking idiot. I never should have…” I glance up again, words sputtering to a stop as I realize that through my entire tirade, his cock has been hanging out of his zipper. Just flopping around like a fucking blobfish—please go google that for a full visual—as I scream. “For fuck’s sake, put that thing away!”
He glances at his crotch, frowning as if he only now realized his knobgoblin is dangling, peeking out of his fly like a goddamn one-eyed troll hiding under a bridge. “Unreal. This can’t be my life,” I mutter as I scrub my hands down my face once more. Eye bleach couldn’t take away everything I saw. Lobotomy is my only option, it would seem.
“June, baby, it didn’t mean anything.”
A booming, sardonic laugh bursts out of me as I glance into his dark eyes.
“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. My momma raised me to know my worth, and it is light-years above you, John. Eons! You have fun with miss Tristan in there, because this? You and me?” My finger wags back and forth between us, in case his dumb ass needs further explanation. “We are done. Don’t call me again.”
I crane my neck and look around him, eyeballing his twenty-something-year-old secretary, with her snatched waist and perfect fucking bikini stuffers. “Hope you enjoy, because he farts in his sleep and gives horrible head. Draw him a map to your clit. Better yet, have Siri permanently plug it into your GPS, because he sure as shit can’t find it on his own.”
My eyes snap back to John, seething as I take a last look at his face. What pisses me off even more is that, at first glance, he appears to be the perfect boyfriend. Disgustingly handsome, successful, always smiling and laughing. Despite my earlier comparison, his dick isn’t half bad, either.
But he’s also a man-whore, as luck would have it.
“Lose my number.” Not bothering to wait for a response, I turn and march out of his office and to my car, my heels making a distinct click-click as I walk with as much dignity as I can muster. I glimpse myself in the window’s reflection, dressed up to the nines in a little black dress, kitten heels, and my platinum blonde hair loose around my shoulders.
Not looking too shabby for forty-two.
My boobs are not perky bikini fillers, but oversized honeydews with a bit of a sagging problem—if we’re being honest, without a good bra, my nipples would stare at the floor like it owed them money. But they are held up nicely by the V neck of my dress, and the A-line cut helps hide the extra weight I carry in my middle.
Stretch marks and a mommy pouch don’t stop me. I wear my mom bod with pride, a badge of honor for the life it has nurtured. I look fucking fantastic, even if I’m not up to Tristan’s standards.
Too bad I just ruined my birthday by showing up an hour before I was supposed to. But I suppose it’s better this way, considering the alternative is to sit across from a lying bastard at dinner with the taste of his assistant’s pussy still on his lips.
Startled by the ringing of my phone, I am pulled out of my misery, and a genuine, joyful grin spreads across my face as I hop into my car.
Speaking of the child that stretched my skin into used elastic. “Jacob!”
“Hey mom,” he says, his voice blending into the steady hum and thumping music that make up the background noise.
“What are you up to on a Thursday afternoon? At a party or something?”
“No, nothing like that, just driving.” The phone scrapes against his face as the music gets quieter. “What are you up to on your birthday? Got any plans?”
I grimace again as I glance down at myself, the definition of all dressed up and nowhere to go. “Nope, no plans.” The thought of telling him about my breakup with John makes me hesitate, but Jacob and I have never kept secrets from each other. A loud sigh escapes through my nostrils. “Actually, I had plans, but they, uh… fell through last minute.”
“Why do I feel like there’s something I’m missing?”
“Yeah, well, it’s what happens when you find your boyfriend bonking his secretary.”
A string of profanities growls out of him, each one more colorful and venomous than the last, my favorite being his classic ‘douchecanoe.’ Creative cursing, a Hall family tradition. “He never deserved you, Mom. You know that, right?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m aware, sweetheart. But it’s fine; I’ll cancel the reservation at Giani’s and stay home with a bottle of wine.” Possibly two.
“Don’t cancel it yet… I mean, you could always go solo.” His voice has taken on that cryptic quality that he gets when he’s trying to be sneaky. The first few times he tried to lie about sneaking out have that tone engraved in my brain.
Kids, I snort to myself. Always think they’re so fucking smart. “Jacob, sweetie, I know you so well. What do you have up your sleeve?”
“How close to the house are you?”
“Not far, just a few minutes.”
“Okay, that gives us time to get changed for dinner.”
It takes a minute for his words to sink in, and when they finally do, I can’t contain my excited squeal. “Are you home?!”
His laughter is stepping into a ray of sunshine, warming my soul and erasing my bad mood like it never happened. One of those sensations that makes you smile and close your eyes, completely out of your control. “Sure am. It was going to be a surprise for your birthday.”
“What about classes?” Jacob is in his junior year of college and takes it very seriously. He’s always been that way—a responsible kid with a heart of gold. It’s a mystery how I managed it, being the hot mess that I am. So much on my plate I had to fight for every free minute with him. Jacob was born when I was in law school, and his sperm donor has never been part of his life—his choice, not mine. It’s always been the two of us.
Forget being a Pinterest parent, I’m more of a McDonald’s mom… but we made it work.
“A freshman ra
“You are too good to me,” I say, trying not to get all teary-eyed and wobbly-lipped on him. “Wait, who’s ‘us’?”
“Oh, I brought my friend Phoenix with me.”
Now, I really try not to be too nosy of a mom, but certain things are ingrained in our very DNA. Our curiosity about our kids’ love lives is something we can’t control. It simply cannot be helped. Nature versus nurture, or some shit like that. “Is he a special friend?”
“Ew, Mom, no. He is not gay, and even if he was, he’s not my type at all. Too pretty.” There is a distant voice murmuring what sounds an awful lot like, “Well, that wasn’t very nice… or was it?” Fighting to suppress my humor, I chuckle under my breath.
A giant smile overtakes me as I round the corner and see his Jeep Cherokee sitting in the driveway. “I’m pulling in now,” I tell him, and we end the call as I drive into the garage. Almost sprinting, I burst into the house and fling my arms around him in a tight bear hug. It takes a full minute of squeezes before I can bring myself to let go.
“Fuck John, let’s have that fancy dinner. Maybe he put his credit card on file, and we can bankrupt him.”
“That would be a lot of pasta, Jacob.”
“I’m a growing boy.” This makes me laugh out loud, because despite eating enough to feed a family of three, he somehow stays long and lean. “I’m going to run up and change. I think I hear Phoenix finishing.”
“Sounds good,” I say, giving him another quick hug as he darts up the stairs, thumping like a stampede of bulls in that noisy way that boys always manage. I shake my head with a grin and pull out my phone, intending to call the restaurant and adjust the reservation. My plans are derailed by a barrage of missed calls and texts from John, starting from the minute I walked away from his accidental whack-a-mole scene.
Fuck that noise.
The messages go unread as I delete them, then promptly block his number. I refocus on my mission when a deep, rumbling voice startles me from my left side. “Jacob speaks so highly of you, but he failed to mention just how beautiful you are. A fucking vision.”
“Oh, come on, stop with the flattery...” I begin, unable to hide my amusement as I turn towards the voice, but the words die in my throat as I take him in. Too pretty, indeed. “You must be Phoenix.” It’s all I can manage as I stare.
One side of his lips twitches, forming a small, subtle smile. “I must be.”
Phoenix is tall and toned, his dark brown hair thick and shaggy. His sun-kissed skin is adorned with intricate tribal tattoos that wind up his arms, while the head of a phoenix, fittingly, peeks out from the collar of his shirt. One of those people that looks artistic and carefree the second they roll out of bed. However, it’s his eyes that truly mesmerize me—emerald green and unwavering, deeper than the ocean, as if they hold a thousand untold stories.
He traces a visual path from my feet to my face as he takes a deliberate step closer. “You look stunning, Ms. Hall. Happy birthday.” Baritone and gravelly, his voice scratches across my scalp like fingernails and wraps my body in a blanket of silken words.
I force a swallow, my mouth dry and my heart pounding as I struggle to rid myself of the spell he has woven around me. He’s my son’s age, for Christ’s sake—no business being that sexy. “Please, call me June.”
He sweeps my hand up and drops a kiss on my knuckles. “June it is, then.” His hands are long and graceful, much like the rest of him, and I grin at his black fingernails and the rings that adorn his fingers.
I’ve always been a sucker for an emo boy.
Just because I’m a respectable lawyer now doesn’t mean I didn’t have my dark phase. For years, I made sure my hair flopped over my eye in just the right way to show off my caked-on smokey eyeliner.
Yeah, that’s right.
I had a MySpace account, and you bet your ass it played My Chemical Romance.
Phoenix releases my hand as Jacob comes barreling back downstairs, pulling me from my thoughts. “Are you ready for this?”
And isn’t that the burning question of the moment?
Jacob, always the perfect gentleman, relinquishes the front seat to Phoenix. Even though I don’t see it, I sense his eyes on me as we drive, a phantom touch that scrapes along my skin. Their light-hearted, joking banter provides a welcome distraction from the awful day I’ve had, and I enjoy the company.
John and I weren’t that serious, but it’s still never fun to discover someone’s been running around on you.
My ears prick up as Jacob asks about upcoming gigs. “You’re in a band?”
Phoenix meets my sidelong glance with a broad grin, surprisingly cheerful for a man with his dark vibes. He’s more of a golden retriever in disguise. “Yeah, and I’ve been trying to convince Jacob to come to a show for ages. Maybe you could talk him into it and tag along.”
“What sort of music do you play?”
“Mostly covers, rock and some punk.”
“I guessed as much,” I say with another sideways smile.
“Why, June,” he says with a touch of sarcasm, and a peculiar sensation courses through me at my name rolling off his lips, as if my insides are doing a little dance. But it’s nothing. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were profiling me.”
Jacob and I let out identical, boisterous laughs at the same time. Loud, vocal happiness is something he inherited from me. We never try to quiet our laughter or diminish it for others. “Well, even if I was profiling, it sounds like I got it right, didn’t I?”
“Touche,” he mutters under his breath, provoking another chuckle from me.
We spend the rest of the drive discussing the band. Phoenix is the main guitarist and backup singer, and I can’t help but wonder who in the world could beat him in vocals. Although I’ve not heard him sing, just listening to him speak is an assault on the senses.
Phoenix’s attention is locked on me at the restaurant, guiding me up the stairs with a firm grip on my hand and pulling out my chair with a smile. I attempt to rein in my wandering eyes, hoping Jacob doesn’t catch me ogling his friend.
After all, Phoenix is only being polite because it’s my birthday, and I’m only noticing because of my breakup.
Yep, that’s the story we’re telling ourselves today.
Dinner is delicious, and the boys convince me to have a few too many glasses of wine since they’re here to drive back. Now and then, Phoenix’s knee brushes against mine, but when I steal a glance at him, he’s focused on his meal or deep in conversation with Jacob.
It’s just the angle of the booths, and there’s certainly not a spark of pure, unfiltered electricity every time we touch.
I absolutely, positively, shouldn’t think any more of it.
After handing my keys to Jacob, I make my way towards the backseat where he was sitting. A firm hand lands on the small of my back and the other blocks me from opening the door. “Now, June,” Phoenix mutters, low in my ear and so close that the dance in my belly turns into a flash mob. “I’d never put you in the back. You’re more of a front and center type of woman.”
Goosebumps erupt on my skin as he speaks, and I let him usher me into the passenger seat. His hand is bold and familiar as it trails from my back across the curve of my ass, making my body feel like a plasma globe, crackling fingers of electricity tracking his every touch.
My mind becomes foggy as we make our way home, and my thoughts drift towards forbidden fantasies of what his hands can do.
Where else they might light me up.
But it’s simply the wine talking. Nothing that I need to be hyper focused on; no need to rub every functioning brain cell together trying to dissect his words.
Nope, definitely not.
It’s late, and fatigue sets in as we reach the house. I’m relieved that I’ve pushed aside any thoughts of John and the scene I stumbled upon earlier. As I get ready to retire for the night, I pull Jacob in for another tight squeeze. “I’m so happy you’re home,” I mutter to him as he hugs me back. “Thank you for making this such a great birthday.”
