Sweet Bloom Crescent
Copyright© 2025 by DrGloss
Scene 3: Escalation and Resolution
Erotica Sex Story: Scene 3: Escalation and Resolution - When midsummer lust collides with one man’s disastrous fertilizer mix, a quiet crescent cul-de-sac erupts in moans, outrage, and laughter. The HOA’s order dies in the heat, and Sweet Bloom Crescent's first scandal is born.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Humor Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Exhibitionism Facial Oral Sex Foot Fetish Public Sex Nudism
Josie’s sundress fought gravity like it had a crush on her.
The cinched waist drew a heart‑shaped hourglass from under her ribs to the swish of her skirt, which kept flipping up to show the under‑curve of her ass. Her tits swelled high in the triangle‑cut top, no bra in sight, just damp linen clinging to nipples like two wet secrets.
Heat had her curls puffed around her neck, pinned up in slipping clips, freckles shimmering with sweat across her chest.
When she dropped to her knees and planted her palms to the floor—thighs flashing honey‑slick, bare soles lifted in the air, black‑smudged from wandering the hall, toes wiggling like she was airing out her sins—she crawled forward with a wriggle and a pop of her hips.
She tugged her panties aside to dangle from one thigh like a little undone bow.
Ooohh~ lookit that, she sang out, arching her back and spreading herself with both hands like stage curtains.
Her finger traced down the middle and she gasped at her own touch.
Mmmmn—there she is—tight lil’ backdoor bloom just waitin’ for somebody brave enough to stretch it out real slow.
Her hand slid between her thighs like reacquainting with a favorite sinner. Fingers parted the slick there, a slow, lazy exploration that made the slick between her legs gather like a promise.
She rubbed in small circles, thumb teasing the pearl of her clit, other fingers slipping to press the dampness wider.
mmmnnngh—when that first hard tip pops the plane of my lil’ backdoor— she squealed, fingers digging deeper as if to anchor herself, curls bouncing like springs.
oohh, mushroom head’s buryin’ in me deep‑deep—aaaahhh~
Her toes curled off the floor, dirty soles flexing as she arched her spine.
Thick and sticky and sooo snug—his balls go pap‑pap‑pap on my clit like a teeny drum kit, taptaptap, and every bit of me just answers— ‘ohmygosh ohmygosh’...
She gasped, whining louder.
Somebody pleeease put a big mean cock in my butt before I start cryin’ in front of the Giver ... I promise I’ll make the prettiest mess all over that dick—Josie juice ‘n cum all sparkly under the lights...
Lacey Brigg didn’t flinch.
She stepped slow from the dais, eyes like firelight in a funeral home, hips rolling beneath the sheer flash of her skirt.
Her blouse was open now. Tits spilled smooth and heavy, sweat beading between them like Sweet Bloom’s own blessing nectar. She moved like a verdict.
Behind Josie, Mayor Alan Brigg hovered like his cock was about to pass ordinance on her ass.
The gavel still hung loose in one hand, forgotten like a campaign promise. His tie had slumped sideways, and his cock stood half‑hard from the corner of his fly, nodding toward Josie’s upturned ass like it was trying to vote on her.
He was already stroking it without realizing, thumb rolling over the slick crown until a pre‑slick sheen lathered his palm, eyes fixed on Josie’s curled toes and spread fingers.
Lacey watched him with a smirk so wide it made her dimples wink.
She stepped up behind him, wrapped her hands over his, leaned close, and licked her palms slow and wet like she was tasting his want right off the skin.
Then she took over stroking him with deliberate, showy pumps.
This’s exactly what I wanted tonight to turn into, she said aloud—voice clear enough for anyone nearby to hear—though her eyes never left Alan’s.
You see her down there? You wanna be the one to feel when your tip slides in her butt and her pussy goes all fluttery from your balls hittin’ her clit?
She squeezed the base of his shaft and giggled.
With wet hands she took his cock from him, stroking it in long, steady pulls, milking more clear fluid down his shaft.
Then she leaned to his ear and whispered, voice a grin:
Mmm, you know somebody else is gonna be the first to stretch that sweet little backdoor, Alan...
You love leakin’ your pre into my palms, don’t you?
While I stroke and lather it all slick around your shaft...
She licked her palm again, sighing soft at the taste, then slid it back down his cock with a grin.
And when I mix my spit with your pre for that creamy little foam...
She was stoking him for the moment the town’s public game would begin.
Y’all heard her, Lacey purred, still stroking Alan’s cock in long, wet pulls as she swept her other arm in a slow arc over the crowd like she was addressing the House.
She’s not just wet, she’s callin’ for congregation. Ain’t nobody gonna leave our Josie drip-drownin’ alone, are they?
There was a shuffle. A creak. A collective breath sucked in and held.
Then Martin Kane stood.
Still shirtless, jeans wet down the thigh from Jolene’s slick earlier, the zipper clawed halfway open like a promise unfinished.
He reached across the aisle and unhooked the folding chair nearest Josie, flipping it open with one hand.
Darlin’, he drawled—voice low and firm like a power line hum—
put your head on this chair and don’t move ‘til I’m done thankin’ Sweet Bloom for your hips.
Josie shrieked.
I’M GONNA GET SPIRIT-FUCKED~!
She dove forward, tits bouncing into the seat like they were leading the prayer.
Martin dropped behind her like a heat front rolling off a July field.
He didn’t strip—didn’t have to. His jeans were sweat-dampened and sagging low, cock already pushing out through the split flap of his boxers, shaft flushed dark and wet at the tip like it had been sweating too.
Josie planted herself half-on, half-off the folding chair abandoned during the call to climax—knees splayed wide, toes curled on the linoleum, ass lifted high.
The chair’s metal legs squeaked with every shift of her weight.
Her pink cotton panties hung limp at her ankle like a flag of surrender.
They were near the front, just left of the podium—three feet from Viola and Ronnie, their heat throbbin’ like the budget deadline.
Lacey and Alan stood less than an arm’s length away, his cock lathering in her palms, breath shallow.
Martin placed one hand flat across Josie’s lower back, the other sliding down the curve of her ass—not groping, but feeling the heat in her skin, the slick build-up at the crease of thigh and hip.
He leaned forward and breathed against her spine, mouth brushing vertebrae.
You ready to pulse, sugar?
Josie whined.
Not a yes—a sound like a girl praying in tongues.
Martin lined up, one hand spreading the cheeks of her ass like pages in a prayer book.
With a low grunt, he sank inside her—slow and deliberate—cock spreading her with an aching drag.
Her chest pitched forward on impact. Tits swung like ripe fruit under the stretch of her dress, nipples bouncing in wide wet arcs beneath the lace.
Her breath hitched. Eyes crossed.
Ahhnnnh— fuckfuckfuck—
Her hands gripped the seatback in front of her. Then his hips met hers.
Balls clapped—smack-smack-smack—right against her upturned clit.
She jolted with every bounce.
The weight of his sack thunked against her pearl, slapping rhythm hot and chaotic.
The moment it hit, her whole front tensed like lightning had crawled up through the floorboards and into her pussy.
I can’t—I’m gonna squirt if you do it like that again—mmmnnhh do it again, again!
She cried out, voice cracking.
Viola grinned without pausing her moan.
She peeled down the top of her sundress and tossed it over the chair like an apron at closing shift. One tit bounced free, already flushed; the other strained against the strap like it knew it was next.
She kicked her leg over the armrest with the ease of a woman who owned every square inch of the room.
C’mere, sugar, she called, voice lazy and lethal.
Time to earn your fuckin’ tips.
Ronnie, her cook and husband both, obeyed without blinking.
He dropped to his knees, kissing up the inside of her leg like he was clocking in. She didn’t wait—just rolled forward and straddled his chest, skirt hitched to her hips, thighs wide and slick already glistening.
She pushed him flat on the meeting hall floor with one hand and settled her pussy down on his face with the other.
There. Now tongue it like you’re checkin’ pie crust, she purred.
This pussy’s been simmerin’ since the lunch rush and you’re gonna lick it clean, you hear me?
He groaned into her slit, beard grinding into her folds as he obeyed—open-mouthed, sloppy, hungry.
Viola rocked on his face with a pleased grunt, then leaned down between his legs and pulled his cock free like a diner special she knew by heart.
She didn’t stroke—she devoured.
Lips sealed around the tip and drew him in slow while her hand cupped his balls like she was testing dough temperature.
Mmmm, she hummed.
Still tastes like overtime. You leakin’ pre like it’s gravy hour, baby~
Spit bubbled at the corners of her mouth as she bobbed her head, braid swaying across his stomach like a metronome of temple rhythm.
Ronnie gasped into her pussy, voice muffled.
Sh-shit—your ass’s blockin’ the whole giverdamn ceiling fan—
Viola popped off his cock with a wet sound and smirked, grinding harder into his face.
It’s called shade, baby. You want light? Get your tongue deeper.
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him tighter, her slick coating his chin, thighs tightening around his ears.
She licked him again with long, languid strokes, spit trailing down his shaft to his balls, her breath hot.
Then she looked up and declared to the room:
Someone better log this on the civic minutes—this ain’t 69. This is a double‑decked charter vote with special sauce.
Lacey, still stroking Alan in steady, lathered pumps, gave a sharp little laugh.
Craig leaned his head just slightly toward the sound.
Martin’s hand slid under Josie’s blouse from behind.
Fingers curled around the weight of her tit like it was a handle for balance. He squeezed her nipple between two knuckles, rolling it until it jutted hard against the fabric.