A woman discovers that being a single mother isn’t the end of the world — especially when there’s a young stud right next door, willing to service all your needs. 

Twice monthly, as soon as my son is strapped into the car seat in my ex’s Lexus, and the taillights are flashing, my own visitation begins — 48 hours of decadent bliss, compliments of my very own MILF man. I’d known Sam casually for a couple of years, but he was younger, and a blue-collar guy. We had little in common, until one day three months ago … 

I waited on the porch, my eyes shielded against the sun as, yet again, my ex put our son into the car seat in the back of his luxury car. Danny gave me a little wave, his bright smile causing my chest to hurt. I hated when he was away. I worried constantly that something would happen when he was in his father’s care, but what could I do? Visitation stipulated Brent had two weekends a month.

Brent didn’t bother looking my way again as he drove off. He’d been rude when he’d lifted Danny from my arms, telling me not to be late on Sunday to pick him up. We hadn’t separated on the best of terms, and the sting of the judge giving me primary custody still grated. Not because he missed his son. He didn’t like having to pay child support.

I’d turned to go back inside when I noticed my next-door neighbor staring after Brent’s car. Sam’s jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed. He likely remembered the shouting matches Brent and I had engaged in during the final months of our marriage. Once, he’d even knocked on the door to see if I was all right.

I’d been embarrassed, but although Brent was harsh with his words, he’d never touched me. I’d thanked Sam, but closed the door firmly. I hadn’t liked that my personal problems had become so public. Not that Brent was much of an issue anymore. Other than the twice-monthly handoffs of our son, we didn’t communicate.

Sam’s gaze followed the Lexus to the stop sign, and then his gaze swung back to me, still narrowed. For just a second, awareness swept through me — causing the fine hairs on my arm to lift and my nipples to tingle. I gave him a tight smile and reentered my home, closing the door, then leaning my back against the cool wood while I remembered how to breathe.

Later that evening, a knock sounded on my door. It was Sam, and he held up bags of food from the Indian restaurant I loved.

“I have too much,” he said with a tentative smile.

Well, I had a few choices. I could thank him, but tell him I’d already eaten. I could thank him and take the bags, but firmly shut the door. Or … 

I opened my door wider and stood aside, silently inviting him in, thanking whatever lucky star for the fact I’d just bathed and wore a soft blue tunic over jeans. I knew I looked good by the way his cheeks blushed after the quick glance he gave my body. And I also knew he’d noted I wasn’t wearing a bra — my nipples were already tightening, the tips poking at the softly draping material of my top.

“This was really nice of you,” I said as he set the bags on my counter. I moved around, drawing dishes and utensils from the cupboards.

“I saw your light,” he said, shrugging. “It’s Saturday night. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t be alone.”

That could have sounded cheesy, and like a well-rehearsed line, but coming from him, with his gaze shyly meeting mine, I knew he was sincere. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

We both relaxed and ate our meal, while I asked him about his work and we talked about the places we’d traveled. Seemed our tastes were similar. We both loved New Orleans and detested Los Angeles. But he’d been to Europe — his senior trip in high school. Somewhere I’d always longed to go.

But that mention of high school reminded me of our differences. I was nearly 30. He couldn’t have been more than 25. And while the number of years between us wasn’t huge, I was a divorced woman with a child. He couldn’t be that interested, shouldn’t want anything that complicated.

I stood to clear the table, ready to end the night before I did something stupid — like invite him upstairs, because he was incredibly well-built and I’d lusted after him for the longest time — but he reached for my hand, halting me. He stood and slowly smoothed his hands up my forearms to my elbows. Then, since I didn’t draw away, he moved higher. When a hand cupped the back of my neck, I couldn’t help myself. I let my head fall back and lowered my eyelashes.

I expected him to be tentative and gentle, but he devoured my mouth, catching me by surprise. I opened and he swept inside, stroking my tongue and taking my breath. I clutched his arms because, suddenly, my knees felt a little weak and I swayed. I reached up and dug my fingers into his short blond hair and pulled.

He broke the kiss.

I stared. His lips were wet, his nostrils flaring. Gone was the seemingly shy guy I’d been crushing on for months. This man’s face and body were taut. He wanted me.

“Stay with me,” I whispered.

“I want the weekend.”

I blinked, not knowing whether I was ready for more than just a night, but gave a nod. Maybe after we’d done it once or twice, he’d change his mind.

He let go of me, then reached for my hand. “Lead the way.”

We walked up the stairs, him trailing behind. I was never so aware of a man, and I knew he was watching my movements, probably my ass, as we climbed. If I swayed my hips a little more than usual, well, again, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him hard. Ready. I wanted him inside me. Now.

Inside my bedroom, I walked straight to the bed, then turned.

He dropped my hand and quickly toed off his shoes and reached to pull his T-shirt over his head.

His chest was broad, his abdomen well-muscled. A body honed by hard work rather than any gym’s weight set. Maybe because I hesitated, he stepped forward and reached for the hem of my tunic, waiting as I raised my arms.

When my hair settled around my shoulders, I could only stand and stare. Our nude torsos were so close, I wanted to lean toward him and rub my hard, aching nipples against his chest, but he was more eager to shed the rest of his clothing. He thumbed the button at his waist, unzipped, and pushed his jeans and boxers downward, bending to remove them.

When he straightened, I drew a deep breath. His cock was thick and long, and very aroused. I’d seen only two cocks before — my husband’s and my high school boyfriend’s, and neither one had made me quiver.

His did. I knew it would stretch me, fill me up. 

Again, he reached across and undid the waist of my pants and slowly pushed them downward.He knelt to help me step out of them, and I sucked in my belly. His hair brushed my skin there, and against my mound. Moisture seeped from inside me to slick my folds, and now I was every bit as impatient. I combed my fingers through his hair and tugged to tilt his face up to meet my gaze.

His blue eyes were narrowed, piercing. A tiny smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Miz Kitchens, you have a very nice ruff,” he said, then stroked a finger over the narrow strip of hair.

“Dana,” I said. “You do know my name, don’t you?”

“I heard your ex shout it often enough.” His mouth tightened. 

A flash of his earlier anger shone in his eyes.

A blush heated my cheeks, but I wasn’t going to let any modesty get in the way of my pleasure. Who knew when I’d find an opportunity like this again. A handsome man at my feet, looking hungry and aroused. Angry on my behalf. I backed up to the bed and sat, opening my legs, inviting him to play — if he wanted.

After cloaking his lovely cock in latex, he crawled between my legs, lifted my thighs, and placed them on his shoulders. Then, giving me a direct stare — a warning? — he bent over my pussy.

Shock held me still the moment his tongue stroked the center of my folds, bottom to top. When he did it again, I arched and dug my heels into his back.

He forked his fingers at the top of my pussy and pulled up--ward, exposing my clit, then he bent again and stroked it with his tongue.

“Sweet Jesus, that feels good,” I gasped.

“There’s more,” he rasped. “Don’t come.” His lips latched around my little nub and sucked.

I sucked in a harsh breath and rolled up my shoulders, incapable of speech. I reached for his hair and pulled, wanting him closer, wanting more.

Two thick, callused fingers rimmed my opening before thrusting inside. “Not yet,” he bit out.

But I was close. My hips rocked, pushing against his mouth; my pussy clenched around his fingers and liquid gushed to wet them.

“Not yet.” He removed his fingers and kissed my belly. Then he stood and gripped my waist, turning me and pushing me toward the center of the bed, following me so closely that I felt his breath on my ass.

When I was there, he placed a hand between my shoulder blades, forcing me to lower my chest to the coverlet. He palmed my ass with his hands, gave it a squeeze, then slapped both sides.

I gave a yelp, and pushed up to look back and give him a glare.

His one-sided smile and narrowed gaze were more effective than any command. My heart thudded against my chest as I faced forward again, sank my chest, and resettled my knees.

A man I barely knew was staring at my ass. My pussy was swollen and wet, my entrance clasping then releasing. Fuck, he could see right inside me. 

His large, rough hands were gripping me hard, molding my buttocks, but then one hand slid away.

I held my breath as the fat tip of his cock pushed against my center, and then gave a groan as he entered me, sliding slowly but relentlessly forward until he filled me. His cock was so deep it nudged my cervix.

“Didn’t expect you to be so fucking tight.”

He gave me a couple of strokes, then held deep inside me, his fingers biting into my hips to keep me from moving. He withdrew, then pushed inside again, easing through my walls, stretching me with little circles of his hips, like he was screwing himself inside me. “Fucking hot, baby. Love the way this feels.”

So did I. His cock was raking every sensitive inch of my vagina. I reached deep between my legs and caught his balls.

“Let go.”

“I want it hard.”

“You’re too fucking tight.”

“You won’t hurt me, Sam. Please.”

His laugh sounded choked. “Never had a woman grab my balls like that.”

I smiled, but I didn’t let go. I loved the velvety texture of his sac and the way his cock expanded inside me, jerking as I fondled and tugged.

He let go of my hips and ringed my wrist, squeezing until I let go. Then he pulled free and reached for me, flipping me over so fast I was still breathless and stunned when he hooked his arms under my thighs, lifted my ass from the bed, and thrust hard inside me.

Now, he had control again. I couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t scratch him. But I could tease.

I tugged my nipples while he stroked, plumped up my breasts and jiggled them. His stare was riveted on my breasts; his hips pistoned faster.

I watched him from under my eyelashes as I tweaked my nipples. But in the end, I had to grab the covers, bunching them in my hands as he powered into me, his quickening movements bouncing my breasts and heating up my insides.

The tension in my core tightened. I arched, whimpering his name. “Sam!”

“Now baby, do it now.”

I came so hard moisture flooded my channel. The sounds he made, slapping against my groin, were lewd and lush. 

His face was reddening, his eyes glazing, and then his breath hitched and he jerked against me, out of rhythm. I felt the pulses inside me as he filled the condom with spurts of his come.

When he stopped moving, he lowered me, careful to keep the connection, until his chest rested against mine, his weight supported on his elbows. “Spend the weekend with me?” he asked.

Still breathing hard, I smiled sleepily. “I already said yes.”

“No, you gave me a nod, but you weren’t sure.” He played with a lock of my hair, brushing the curl back and forth against my cheek. 

Although sated, I realized, gazing up at him, that I’d been cheated out of so much. My ex had screwed his secretary, but he’d also never given me much more than quick, perfunctory fucks. I wanted more of what Sam had to offer. I met his gaze. 

“I want the weekend. And if this works between us, I want every weekend my son is gone.”

His eyebrows lowered, but he gave me a slow nod. “And if, eventually, I want more?”

I took a deep breath. Baby steps. Sure, I was just as greedy. My pussy was throbbing. I liked everything about this man — his strong body, his stamina, the direct way he had about him. Already, I trusted him. “Let’s see. Give me time.”

“Okay,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. “As much as you need, baby.”
Sam calls himself the MILF Man, but I’m the only mother he wants to fuck. And as soon as my mouth is empty, I’ll tell him I’m ready for more. But right now, I’m a little busy. With one hand tugging his balls, and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, I lower my head, taking him deep down my throat. Sam’s very worthy cock is the last, I hope, I’ll ever need.

Send letters to ForumSubmission@penthouse.com.

From the December 2015 issue of Penthouse magazine.

Want to see more steamy letters from Penthouse readers? Subscribe to the print publication at PenthouseMagazine.com or the digital publication at PenthouseMagazine.com/digital, or upgrade your Penthouse.com membership to include the online magazine.