Amanda's Young Men
Read Amanda's Young Men Online
Authors: Madeline Moore
Contents
About the Book
When her husband dies under mysterious circumstances in a by-the-hour motel, Amanda inherits a chain of shoe shops that bleed money. But luckily for Amanda, the staff are bright and beautiful young people, ambitious to succeed and eager to give her total satisfaction. As she sets out to save the chain, and track down the woman involved in her husband’s death, Amanda also finds time to amuse herself with lovers – young ones, and lots of them. Heels, hose, and haute couture have always been parts of Amanda’s life, but now she’s up to her dimples in duplicity, desire and decadence.
About the Author
In another guise, Madeline’s scripts have been produced by the National Film Board of Canada as well as by a number of Independent Television Producers. Madeline Moore lives in sin with Nexus author Felix Baron near Toronto, Ontario, Canada. Madeline Moore is a Canadian author of erotica and a screen writer.
Also by Madeline Moore
Wild Card
Sarah’s Education
Amanda’s Young Men
Madeline Moore
1
THE YOUNG ROAD
worker rotated his lollipop sign from ‘Slow’ to ‘Stop’. Amanda could have sneaked by him legitimately, but she chose to slam on her brakes and stop within five feet of the skinny lad. Under his hardhat, his face was young and smooth. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. Perhaps he was a student working through his summer vacation. He was tanned and bare-chested, with a circle of wiry dark hair around each small hard nipple. There were a few straggly hairs in the middle of his chest. His underwear rose an inch higher than his sagging tool belt and baggy work pants. A bead of sweat trickled from his armpit and ran down his ribcage. Amanda powered her window down and sucked in a long deep breath but all she got to taste was hot tar and dust. A thin straight line of hair descended vertically from the teen’s navel to disappear under his waistband. Amanda’s imagination followed it.
In contrast to the hirsute bear of a man who was attacking a slab of concrete with a jackhammer ten feet further on, the boy didn’t look old enough or tough enough for hard labour. Amanda wondered whether the rougher and older men ever took advantage of the softer, vulnerable youth. Perhaps they sometimes took him into one of those portable canvas things that road workers use and passed him around like a bottle of cheap booze – made him suck them off, or forced him to bend over a sawhorse and take their big thick dicks all the way up his tight young bum.
An experience like that could confuse an impressionable young man; maybe even make him doubt his masculinity. What he needed to reassure him was a mature but sexy older woman to take him in hand, or in her mouth … a lascivious woman, one with no agenda of her own, except of course for an overwhelming need for a good, hard …
A car’s horn blared behind her. The lad she’d been fantasising about was waving at her to get a move on. His sign had already twirled from ‘Stop’ to ‘Slow’. Amanda put her Lexus into drive and cruised through the construction zone with no more than a few quick glances at the big bronzed, sweaty labourers.
‘Brutes,’ she muttered, and meant it as a compliment.
By the time she’d made a left on to Argos Road, a right on to Jason Way and pulled into the driveway of number 247, home, her fantasy included both the lean boy
and
the bear-man, which made for an interesting but slightly uncomfortable scenario.
If Amanda had been anything other than just plain horny in her youth, she’d tended to be sexually submissive. Even now, when she daydreamed about older men, like her own husband, Roger, she was consistently at least a little subservient. But when she thought about sex with men who were younger than her, much younger, she was always in charge. Fantasising about both at once felt awkward, which was making it, happily, even more exciting.
What to do? She was squirming on her buttery leather seat and definitely needy. Amanda had two choices. She could either take a waterproof toy to her bath, or repair with a vibrator or just her flying fingers to bed. Those counted as just one choice – masturbation – not two. Or … she could stretch it out for hours by turning it into a seduction-of-Roger scenario. If she could just get Roger to come home at a reasonable
hour
for once, she knew she could entice him. The latter choice would be preferable but the poor man had been working an awful lot of late nights recently. Money, money, money.
Amanda jangled the charm bracelet on her wrist, as he’d told her to do when she got impatient with him. The charms spelt ‘H-I-G-H M-A-I-N-T-E-N-A-N-C-E’, which was a lot of charms considering the bracelet was 18K gold. It had been his gift for their first anniversary. Point taken.
As soon as she got inside, she phoned Roger’s office. ‘Darling? T-bone steaks tonight, on the barbecue, OK?’
‘Lovely, I’ll do my best.’ He sounded happy, as always, to hear from her.
‘Do you know about what time you’ll be getting home? I want to make it a specially nice night as I’ve barely seen you all week.’ She cooed the words into the phone.
His voice rumbled low as he asked, ‘Specially nice?’
‘You know exactly what I mean,’ she purred.
‘I sure do. In that case, expect me at seven, OK?’
‘The steaks will be ready, and so will I. Seven will be fine. If anything happens to delay you …’
‘It won’t. I won’t let it.’ He paused. ‘I’ve missed you, sweetheart.’
‘Me too.’
She hung up, already tingling with anticipation. When she’d married an older man, her girlfriends had warned her that her love-life would suffer. Maybe she didn’t get it as often as she might have liked but, when she did, Roger’s loving was very
thorough
. He knew her inside and out, body and mind. She tingled with excitement. Damn, it would be great to have company when she climaxed for a change.
It wasn’t Roger’s fault that she was over-sexed; anyway she hadn’t always been this way. Much as Amanda had enjoyed
sex
in her twenties, it was only when she’d hit her thirties that she’d started to really need it. Maybe, as a young woman, she’d been too wrapped up in romantic dreams to coolly consider the quality of the love-making. She’d had some duds.
Marriage, a corral for many wives, had turned out to be a wide-open prairie for Amanda. With, of course, only one studhorse to play with. A studhorse that might soon be put out to pasture?
Amanda banished the traitorous thought and set to work on the meal. Most women her age would have been happy with the kind of love-making she enjoyed once every three or four weeks. In any case, that and her once-a-day self-satisfying routine kept her perfectly content. Perhaps not ‘perfectly’, but pretty content. Sort of content? Content-ish?
Marginally dissatisfied?
Damn that young road worker, with his seductively lean chest and his tempting trail of belly-hair!
Amanda got the steaks out, seasoned them, prepared two large baking potatoes, mixed a Greek salad, opened a bottle of Bull’s Blood to let it breathe and went upstairs. For her, this was when the love-making really began – with her elaborate preparation ritual. From the moment she dropped her day clothes into the laundry hamper and made her way, deliciously naked, into the bathroom, she was making love to Roger, even though he wasn’t there and wouldn’t be for another couple of hours.
She poured sandalwood and vanilla oils into her steaming tub, for Roger. The Jacuzzi jets drummed against her skin, awakening her senses, for Roger. It was for him that she rinsed and twirled a facecloth into a tight spiral so that she could delve into her most intimate places. It was to please Roger that she waxed her pubes and pumiced her elbows and feet. It was because she was saving her lust for him that she only allowed
the
bubbling stream from a jet to flutter her pussy lips for a few minutes, instead of letting the thrumming delight take her all the way.
When Amanda felt that she was positively glowing with cleanliness and steaming with lust, she climbed out of the tub and went into the shower stall for an intense rinse and to wash her hair. Roger loved her multi-streaked blond mop. ‘Coarse-cut marmalade,’ he called it.
Once she’d dried and moisturised her body, she remained naked, all the more to enjoy the primping and pampering. Roger loved her narcissism; he encouraged it. And this, she knew, was why. If they hadn’t been together so long, and if she was just a little younger and not his first and only spouse, she could be considered a trophy wife. Amanda preened.
After blow-drying and fluffing her chin-length mane, she expertly dusted her eyelids with violet shadow and applied two coats of waterproof mascara. From among dozens she chose a cherry lipstick and matching nail varnish. Her lips got three coats and her nails, both finger and toe, got two.
It was time to decide what to wear. Amanda visualised her walk-in closet in her mind, though it was only a few feet away. Now that she was over thirty she was supposed to exercise her memory in order to keep her mind alert, and this was much more fun than reciting poetry by heart.
They’d be eating on the patio beside the pool. The woven cedar fence around it was twelve feet high, so she needn’t worry about looking ‘decent’. Truthfully, Amanda was in the mood for tall stiletto pumps, sheer black hose, a constricting waspie and a velvet choker, but somehow those didn’t seem right for an al fresco meal. Nude but for strappy sandals was a tempting possibility, but if she greeted Roger totally bare he wouldn’t wait to eat. Roger would need his protein for the evening’s events and it was always best for his blood sugar if
he
ate at regular times. Anyway, she liked to make him wait, getting hornier and hornier, until he erupted into action.
She had several bikinis, two of them too skimpy to be worn in public but perfect for a private party, but they didn’t quite match her mood and it wasn’t like she was planning on swimming, waterproof mascara or no. Now that she’d abandoned the ‘elegant bordello’ look, she fancied going for ‘total slut’.
Then she saw it in her mind’s eye, way in the back of the walk-in, tucked in with a few remnants from her past that she’d been too sentimental to get rid of. A rummage though her actual closet uncovered an outfit she hadn’t worn since she was fifteen and had (almost) forgotten she owned – a faded denim mini and a matching bomber jacket. They’d been put away when her parents forbade her to wear them. They’d said the outfit made her look cheap. That made it perfect for the look she sought.
Amanda managed to zip the skirt, although it was just a tiny bit tighter now. The jacket wouldn’t do up. In fact, it wouldn’t even come close. That was fine. When she posed in the skirt, well, it might have been considered scandalously short way back then, but …
As she didn’t care about ruining it, she hacked four inches off with a pair of shears. Now,
that
was short. When she bent over, two pink half-moons of her bum were exposed. Roger was in for a major treat.
Amanda chose a pair of raffia slip-on wedgies with half-inch platforms and four-inch heels from her collection of 122 pairs of footwear. She revelled in the combined advantages of being married to the owner of 31 shoe stores and having sample-sized feet. Amanda hadn’t spent a penny on shoes in over eight years. The shame was Roger’s chain never stocked the same styles that he brought home for her. He’d told her, more than once, that they were just too extreme for Forsythe Footwear’s
conservative
clientele. Even plain pumps were rejected if their heels were more than three inches high. Amanda doubted Roger’s judgement on that, but he was adamant and, after all, his family had been ‘in shoes’ for three generations, so he had to know what he was talking about.