“Dude, Mrs. Mitchell is a hottie.”
Robin Mitchell froze at the top of the stairs that led down to the basement of her new townhome. Had she heard that right?
“Shh, not so loud, Brandon.” That was Paul, the kid who’d lived next door at her old house and had generously offered to help her move. No, not a kid anymore, Robin reminded herself as she thought of his biceps straining his tight graphic tee.
“Anyway,” Brandon continued, “you sure she’s in her 40s? There’s no way. Her legs look too good. I fucking love short shorts like that.”
“Yeah, me too,” Paul agreed.
Robin glanced down at her outfit. While the brown, pocketed shorts did show off most of her legs and she’d seen the guys looking, she’d never been self-conscious about the choice until now. It was the day of her move. The shorts and her black tank top felt natural. And it wasn’t like she was wearing heels.
“Not sure it really matters. She could be nineteen and she’d still be out of our league.”
Paul’s praise made her light-headed.
”Speak for yourself, Paul, my friend,” Brandon boasted.
Robin smiled. It was easy to impress guys like him. When she was younger, she’d had her fair share of Brandons wrapped around her finger. They were fun, but those relationships were as shallow as their personalities. Compliments from guys like Paul were more meaningful. They weren’t on a singular mission to get in her pants—and it was always more satisfying when they did.
Robin shook her head and backed off a step. What was she thinking? Satisfying to be with guys like Paul? It wasn’t proper.
Downstairs, Brandon went on and Robin couldn’t help herself. “Paul, you’ve been crushing on her forever. She’s way up there on a fucking pedestal for you.”
That sent a tingle through her body. Paul had a crush on her?
“Come on, man, lay off. It’s not like that. And whatever, she’s been married for, like, ever.
“And now she’s not.” Brandon’s words had a finality to them that struck at Robin’s heart. She wasn’t anymore, was she? He’d left her for some tramp, fifteen years younger. Brandon continued, “And Mr. Mitchell is a fucking moron. How can you leave a wife who looks that good? The pussy can’t be worth it. No fucking way.”
Robin resisted the urge to race down there and hug Brandon. Maybe she’d misjudged the young man.
Paul agreed with his friend. “I don’t get it. They always seemed happy. And I always thought how lucky he was. Mrs. Mitchell is so cool.”
Robin’s body quivered. Brandon’s compliments paled next to Paul’s. He was always so genuine, and this afternoon was no exception.
“Just look at this entertainment center. Fifty-inch television. Surround sound speakers. A Playstation 3!” Brandon’s macho enthusiasm was back. “There’s nothing hotter than a chick who likes video games.”
The truth was that she’d taken all that stuff because there was no way in hell her ex-husband and that slut were going to enjoy them. She bought it all for him, so she got to walk away with it. Still, it felt good being thought of as the cool chick.
“I like how active she is. She runs every morning in these skin-tight outfits. Best part of my day was seeing her jog away from the house. Even in the middle of winter, she looked good. God, I’m going to miss that.”
Paul had been watching her from the window each morning when she took to the streets? The tingling started to gravitate between her thighs.
“Didn’t you jerk off to her sunbathing?”
“Oh, God, I shouldn’t have told you about that.”
Her eyes shot open and she rocked her head forward, her loose golden bangs spilling across her face. Really? she mouthed.
“Paul, I don’t blame you. I mean, she must look awesome in a bikini.”
“I do?” Robin called as she descended down the stairs. She didn’t remember making the decision to interrupt, but the petrified look on their faces was worth it.
Paul and Brandon jumped to their feet, watching in horror as Robin Mitchell’s shapely legs appeared at the top of the steps. Long and shimmering, tapering into her brown short-shorts. Brandon licked his lips. Paul felt like he’d been busted for shoplifting Playboys from the bookstore’s magazine rack.
They’d been unwinding on the sectional sofa, which was still wrapped in its moving tarp, placed haphazardly amidst the wreckage of Robin’s move. It had been a long afternoon of slugging boxes, but they were done.
She masked her nervousness with a coy smile and admired the towering specimens of college-aged men, dressed in cargo shorts and t-shirts. They were both fit, Brandon with his brawny shoulders and Paul with his lean physique. She still had trouble connecting the impressive young man with the beanpole who’d grown up next door, although seeing panic lance through him was helping her remember.
“How long have you been there?” Paul asked.
“Long enough to know that you’ve had a crush on me.” She watched as Paul’s face went white, then turned to Brandon. “And you are the first person to call me a ‘hottie’ in many years.”
Brandon recovered before Paul. “I seriously doubt that. You just don’t hear it.” Their eyes locked. “It’s disrespectful.”
Robin laughed. “So Paul, you think I look awesome in a bikini?”
What could he do? He wasn’t going to lie. “Yeah.”
She smiled. Paul liked that.
Brandon broke into their little moment. “So I think we’re done moving everything. You know what that means…”
Robin shook her head. “What?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Ziploc bag. “We relax,” he said, popping open the bag. He sat back down on the short arm of the sectional sofa and fished out a joint.
“Is that pot?” Robin stared at the hand-rolled cigarette.
Paul’s mouth went dry. He would have kicked Brandon if he’d not been so stunned. This wasn’t some coed he was offering a smoke. This was the wife-next-door! “Brandon, I don’t think this is a good idea…”
Robin hadn’t smoked pot since college. She’d gotten the wild times out of her system back then. Or so she’d thought. For whatever reason, Brandon’s offer was tempting. Paul’s concern only made her feel more reckless. “I could use some relaxing.”
Brandon grinned, flashing a chill-out smile at Paul before pulling out his lighter and firing up the spliff. “Do you smoke often, Mrs. Mitchell?” he asked, his voice tight as he held the smoke in his lungs.
“God, no. What would my kids say?” Robin took a seat on the oversized sofa, taking the joint between her pinched fingers. Leaning back, she sucked smoke in, her eyes squinting shut. Her cool demeanor broke in a fit of coughs.
“I think your kids would say you’re pretty cool,” Brandon replied, smoke curling around his face.
Paul lowered himself next to Robin, staring at her as she hacked away, joint in her hand. He didn’t need to smoke to feel encapsulated in a surreal buzz. He studied the woman next to him, wondering if this was really happening. He watched her long ponytail swish and bounce, arching down her back like the neck of a golden swan. She had a long neck of her own, lean and graceful. Kissable.
“Your turn?” she asked, breaking the spell. She held out the smoking bud, but all he could focus on at first was how lean her arm was. He took it from her, his mind still in disbelief.
Robin was having a similar mental freak out, particularly as she watched Paul smoke the joint with practiced ease. The neighbor’s kid wasn’t so innocent. She met his eyes. Not a kid, either, she reminded herself. The pot loosened her tongue. “I can’t believe I’m getting high in the basement with guys half my age.”
Brandon started laughing. Then everyone started laughing. That felt good. There hadn’t been much of that since her husband left.
“You’re not going to tell my mom, are you?” Paul was cracking up before he could finish the question.
Thinking about Paul’s parents and some of the fun they’d had when the kids were younger, Robin decided to drop a bomb. “Your mom would probably ask you to share.”
It took a moment for that to sink in. Then he blundered out a, “Wait, what?”
Brandon barked out a laugh. “Dude, I knew your parents were cool like that.”
Paul barely heard his friend’s yammering. His attention was locked on Robin, who looked so pretty smiling like that. “My parents smoke?”
Robin shrugged. “They used to. Not sure about now.”
“Did you and your… did you ever do it with them?”
“Nah. Brian was too straight for that—or so I thought, anyway.” Her ex’s name tasted bitter in her mouth. “I used to smell it in the backyard though. When you were little. Heard them laughing.” She shook her head. She lifted the last of the joint to her lips, inhaled and released. “I used to envy how much fun they had together. I used to think, ‘Those two know love.’ At the time, I told myself Brian and I just expressed it differently. Now, I’m not sure.”
She watched as the bud died in her fingers. Paul didn’t like how sad she looked. “He is a complete ass,” he said. On a whim, he shifted over to her and started rubbing her shoulders.
“Fucking moron,” Brandon added.
“Totally,” Paul agreed.
“I just don’t get it. I’ve met his new whore—before I knew about them, I mean. She’s young and pretty, but so… tacky. Raccoon eyes, you know? He never told me he liked that look. Is that what you guys like?”
There was a trap if there ever was one. Even stoned, Paul side-stepped it. He ran his massaging hands up her neck, then down her spine. He could feel her muscles under his fingertips, warm and taut, but he was surprised to find no bra strap. “There is no way that’s going to last. The secretary cheating with the married man? Not a recipe for a stable relationship.”
“Yet he chose her over me. Makes me feel great about myself.” She rolled her head to the side, baring her neck. “That feels so good, Paul.”
“I bet Paul wouldn’t choose anyone over you,” Brandon declared, breaking out in a titter.
Robin peeked at Paul. “Yeah right. I know I can’t compete. Not with girls half my age.” She chewed her lip. “I mean, I can’t even remember the last time we had sex—not that I didn’t make an effort. I just thought he was tired or overworked or something. Now I learn he’s been fucking this girl without a problem. I’m 41, but I never thought of myself as old until he left me.”
Paul didn’t think of her as old, either. He was surprised to hear her age. He pushed her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and caressed the soft sweep of Robin’s neck. It was as supple as any he’d touched and he yearned to touch more of her. Paul’s voice caught in his throat before tumbling out, tender and sincere. “You’re beautiful.”
The trio was quiet, absorbing the emotion of the moment. It wasn’t an awkward silence, one that needed to be filled with something forced or silly. Even Brandon knew to hold his tongue. Paul ran his thumb along the groove of her spine. Brandon watched them from the other bend of the sofa.
She felt beautiful. Wanted. It had been years since she’d felt that way with her husband. Robin spoke at last, her voice tiny. “Thank you.”
Paul couldn’t help himself. He leaned down and kissed Robin’s neck. He felt her heart beat beneath the surface of her skin. Felt her shiver.
“Paul…” Robin sighed. It was supposed to be a warning—a “this is too far” plea—but Paul took it as encouragement. The hand on her back swept around her as he pressed his hard torso against her.
She should have pulled away, but it felt too good for that. Instead, she slumped into his embrace, rolling her head back onto his shoulder.
Paul kissed along the ridge of her neck, lingering at the back of her jaw just beneath her ear. He breathed in the fruity aroma of her shampoo and body soap. His hands moved, climbing her midriff and up her torso. She gasped as his touch found her breasts, enveloping them in a gentle squeeze.
“Paul—” she said. The rest was cut off as his lips covered hers, his tongue slicing into her mouth. She resisted for half-a-second before returning the kiss—her first kiss with anyone other than Brian in twenty long years! Her smile tightened their lip lock.
Paul kept wondering when he was going to wake up. Robin had been his fantasy woman for so long she’d become as unattainable as Megan Fox. Yet here they were, making out, her soft tits collected in his hands. He slipped them higher, finding her nipples pushing hard points through the tank top.
Brandon watched them, legs splayed and silly grin plastered across his face. At the moment, he was mellow enough to just observe. He’d been watching Robin all day as she supervised the move, telling them where to put boxes and furniture when it was all he could do not to stare. She had a dancer’s body, long and lean with high, perky breasts that Paul was enjoying. He’d envied his friend when Paul told him that he’d seen her in a bikini. Now, as he watched Paul begin to pull up Robin’s tight tank top, he knew he’d see a whole lot more. That grin wasn’t going away.
Robin didn’t pull away when she felt Paul lift her top, but she almost did. Through the buzz of the pot and this young man’s kiss, she was aware of what was happening. She was being undressed in a room with two hot and horny guys and they all knew where that was going to lead.
Robin’s breasts fit perfectly in Paul’s hands. His thumbs went to work on her high-seated nipples, drawing a moan into their kiss. She tried to pull away but he held her their, sitting up on his knees to better angle his kiss down into her. Their mouths clashed harder, tongues tangling with desperation. Paul squeezed her tits, rougher than she usually liked. He twisted her nipples, sending pain and pleasure searing through her. There was need in it. Power. Robin pushed her chest against his grip and her shoulders against his body.
She reached behind her and found Paul hard. She stroked him through his shorts, surveying the full stretch of him. Any lingering impressions she had of the boy-next-door evaporated. Paul wasn’t just a man, but he was a healthy young man.
Brandon loved tan-lines and Robin had some nice ones: pale triangles against her warm tan. The midriff he’d been stealing glimpses of all day was flat, her navel unadorned with the piercings that so many girls his age sported. She didn’t need it to be sexy. Brandon couldn’t simply watch any longer.
Paul broke the kiss and shifted back to her neck. She opened her eyes and found Brandon standing before her. Shirtless and muscled, he was beautiful. His skin was a deep bronze that went well with his dark hair and darker eyes.
Robin reached out and touched his chest gingerly. His skin was hot, his chest hard. She brushed her fingers through the light cropping of hair across his pecs and another tantalizing trail that led into his shorts. She had to force herself to breath.
“Do I live up to your fantasies?” Brandon asked.
“I don’t know. Do I?”
Behind her, Paul pulled off his shirt. He felt good as he pressed up against her, skin on skin. Brandon sank down onto one knee and kissed her. He was much more aggressive than Paul—more impatient, more demanding. She met it with her own fervor, sliding the hand that had been on his chest lower.
Brandon pressed in, his touch skidding up the inside of her thigh. With Paul behind her and Brandon before her, their bodies brawny with youth, claustrophobia had never been such a turn-on. And when her left hand found Brandon’s cock—when she had one in each fist—the world closed even tighter.
“When Paul told me you were hot, I had no idea.” Brandon’s words burned through her. “But I’m thinking that this has always been you, deep down. Hasn’t it?” His fingers pressed against the apex of her thighs. “And I bet you’ve fantasized about Paul. Am I right?”
Robin didn’t want to admit it, but when Brandon pushed harder against her sex, the truth came out in a hissing “yesss…”
Paul stiffened. He wouldn’t have believed it had he not felt her nipples harden between his tweaking fingers and her back arch some more.
Brandon rose, pulling out of her grasp as he unfastened his shorts. Paul could feel her heart beating wildly. He kissed back to her neck. “Did you really?” he asked.
In response, she turned and kissed him. After having Brandon’s possessive mouth on hers, it was a nice change to feel the tender slide of his tongue again.
She broke the kiss and there was Brandon’s cock, curved and thick, held in the young man’s fingers. She didn’t think. The time for that was long gone. She simply reacted, reaching out and replacing his hand with her own.
Paul watched Robin lean forward and take Brandon’s cock into her mouth, his head dizzy with jealousy. Logically, it wasn’t a fair reaction, but Paul’s spinning emotions were beyond logic. This was his fantasy. He’d been dreaming about this moment for so many years.
But his cock didn’t wilt with the jealousy. As he watched Robin’s lips latch to Brandon’s member and slither down his glistening shaft—just a few inches away—Paul grew even harder. There was nothing shy or practiced about her technique. This woman not only knew what she was doing, but enjoyed it.
The last scraps of the proper adult lady he knew next door fell away. Robin wanted to feel both of them throb in her hands. It was intoxicating. She hadn’t removed her hand from the bulge of Paul’s shorts and when she started to work at his fly, Paul got the message. He nearly yanked his shorts and boxers off in one move. Robin’s giggle caught in her throat, stifled by the cock lodged there.
Paul groaned when her fingers finally wrapped around him, pumping in time with her bobbing head. He looked up at Brandon, whose face was twisted and ugly as he tried to hold off his climax.
Robin was too good. Her tongue did things to the underside of his cock that Brandon didn’t think were possible, swirling and lacing in patterns that made his eyes roll back into his head. She pumped faster, sucked harder, her tongue never ceasing until his balls were as tight as the grimace on his face.
“Uh…uh god!” he groaned, his orgasm noisy and satisfying.
Robin swallowed every drop. She wasn’t crazy about the taste, but there was something sexy that came with the feeling of a man’s cum slithering down her throat—particularly that of a strange new and attractive man. The nostalgia was back, a memory of her crazier days.
“My turn?” Paul asked when she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Is that what you want?” Robin’s voice was husky after the blow job.
“Yes.” Paul barely trusted himself to speak.
Robin rose to her feet and slipped out of her flats as her fingers moved to the snap of her shorts. Brandon had collapsed back into the sofa, but his eyes lifted to her topless form with a smile. The heat between her legs surged. She was glad she’s worn pretty panties: bright purple boy-shorts constructed entirely of lace. The guys had been catching glimpses of it all afternoon, each time she bent forward; now they got to admire the whole thing.
Every naked inch of her lived up to Paul’s fantasy, from her tan lines to the way her small breasts still sat high and round on her slim frame. She had narrow hips and thighs tight enough that they didn’t brush as she stood there and posed for them, one foot forward, toes pointed.
Robin’s confidence wavered as she looked at Paul and realized he’d wrapped his hand around his cock. He stroked himself slowly, close to orgasm, his mind empty of everything but Mrs. Robin Mitchell. Her lips curled at the ends.
Was this what he did when he watched me sunbathe? Such a simple thought, but it brought the simmer inside her body to a full boil. When she moved her thumb into her panties and pulled it halfway down the side of one hip, Paul’s fingers tightened and started moving a little faster. She steadied her ragged breathing and completed the strip.
The pale lines where her bikini usually sat were more prominent than the ones across her breasts. It was a reminder of how small that bikini was, mere string at the hips and covering only half of her cute little ass. She turned to him and he felt his balls tighten, immediately stopping the steady jerking of his fingers.
“You don’t have to stop,” she said, batting her lashes.
“It’s going to get messy if I don’t.” Paul wanted to look up into those large, brown eyes of hers, but her nudity was too tempting—especially when she took a sultry step in his direction. The tan lines framed her smooth pussy, as tight and compact as the rest of her, topped with a wedge of trimmed light brown curls. Most girls his age were bare, but this was a nice change, and suited her.
She lowered herself into a straddle in his lap and circled his neck in her arms. With the roll of her hips, she rubbed her pussy along his length, caressing his cock with her soft, wet skin. “You’re so hard.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt about this.”
“Yeah?” She continued to stroke him with the petals of her pussy. She’d been wet enough to take him ages ago, but she wanted to savor this moment—it wasn’t an experience she’d be repeating. “Did you know I’ve had those same dreams? Longer than I should have?”
Paul’s heart caught in his throat. “Um… I think I have a condom in my—” Paul’s voice was cut short as Robin adjusted the angle of her hips and took him into her. He groaned, burying his face against her shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I’m safe.”
Few things live up to their fantasies. Robin Mitchell surpassed them. She moved over him unlike any woman he’d ever had—hips undulating with just the right amount of pressure, kegel muscles rippling like magic each time their pelvic bones touched.
All his senses went soft and bleary as she drew out the moment. Her moans were murky; her grip in his hair was anesthetic. “Are you close?” she asked, the question being processed on a delay.
He drew a breath. Felt lighter than air and ready to crash. His answer came out clipped and cautious—like even admitting it would set him off. “Yes.”
“Don’t hold back. I want to feel you cum.” She started to fuck him harder. She wasn’t going to let him linger, even if he wanted to. She nipped at his ear, shrieking, “Cum! Cum!” as her own orgasm built to crescendo.
Paul tightened his hands on her buttocks, taking control of her knife-like body. Harder she bounced—each undulation threatening to dislodge their slippery union.
“Now, Paul. Cum for me. Now. Now!”
He squeezed her ass, drawing her hips tight against his own, and emptied himself into her. She pressed her body against him, her tits molding to the stony contours of his chest, and threw her head back as she joined him.
They collapsed into one another as they recovered, heavy of breath and covered in sweat. Robin laid her head against Paul’s shoulder and opened her eyes to find Brandon still there, watching them—watching her. She’d completely forgotten about their audience, but judging by the full extension of his cock, Brandon hadn’t forgotten about them.
Brandon rose, his cock bouncing obscenely before him, and stretched. He knew he was good looking and Robin hated to oblige him, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from scanning all 200 pounds of tanned, muscled man.
“My turn?” he asked with a grin that she wanted to slap off if she weren’t so busy getting turned on.
Brandon didn’t wait for an answer. He knelt down behind her, pulled her enough out of Paul’s lap to bend her over, and drove in from behind.
His cock lanced through her, thinner than Paul’s perfectly sculpted manhood, but longer by an inch at least. Robin gasped silently as his length touched her deeper than she’d felt by anything but her longest dildos. She clenched her teeth as pain mingled with her frenzied excitement.
Brandon fucked her like a possession. With none of the tenderness Paul had shown. It wasn’t better or worse. Just different. Brandon yanked her back by the hips, sending wet slaps through the unpacked basement.
Through the red haze, she felt fingers in her hair. Stroking her. Caressing her. She looked up, realizing for the first time that she’d been resting her head on Paul’s leg and her fingers were tucked under Paul’s thigh. He was watching her get taken, mesmerized.
Paul memorized this moment: Robin’s furrowed brow; the flash of her clenched, white teeth; the flare of her nostrils. She wanted to get fucked hard enough to rock her whole body. To be used. Smothered. He glanced across her glistening body, where Brandon rode her. That jealousy he’d felt earlier was gone. Excitement was all that remained, so strong he wanted to gnash his teeth.
Robin watched Paul grow hard, just inches from her face. She reached out and stroked it until it was too thick for her fingers to meet. Brandon fucked her harder, his balls clapping against her clit. Her body quaked, not quite an orgasm, but enough to force her eyes shut as it passed.
When it did, she sought out Paul, her gaze slicing through the blades of her drooping lashes. He made her feel wanted. He made her want to be bad.
Robin edged her face closer to his cock, running her tongue along the hard shaft. He shuddered. She did it again, carving a jagged path. Hoisting up onto her elbows, she closed her mouth over Paul’s thickness.
She tasted cum—his and hers. She shuddered. Here she was, skewered at both ends by hard muscle and grunting masculinity, and she wished she’d tried this long ago. She felt an orgasm build, looming vast and profound. Brandon returned to the fuck with renewed vigor; she focused the last scraps of her concentration on Paul’s blow job.
Paul’s eyes met Brandon’s, reflecting his friend’s incredulous expression. Then Robin did this thing with her tongue and throat that made the world sway and his balls tighten.
The threesome’s rhythm lost its steady pace as things drew close. Tight. Brandon shortened his blitzing hips, ramming harder and deeper and faster. Robin’s moan hummed around Paul’s cock. He rocked his hips forward, driving into her throat. Her nostrils flared. Oxygen fled. Sanity wouldn’t be too far behind.
“I want you to cum on me,” Robin said, her voice clipped and breaking at the end. Heat hit her cheeks as she listened to herself ask it—a lust-fueled fireball that burst through her body.
Brandon lost it, yanking his cock free and cumming with a roar. Liquid warmth splashed across her buttocks and up her back. Paul joined his friend a second later, erupting once against the back of Robin’s throat before he could pull free. The rest made a mess across her cheeks, her lips, the blonde hair that had escaped its ponytail.
Her body went limp, supported between the two young men like a sagging suspension bridge. They picked her up effortlessly and laid her on the sofa. In a distant part of her mind, she noted that she was happy they were still covered in a moving tarp.
She let herself recuperate for a long minute before pushing to her feet and excusing herself to the basement bathroom to clean up. She felt too bashful to even look at her reflection. She was a mess. Cum covered her face. Her hair had mostly escaped its ponytail. Yet she couldn’t stop smiling.
She cleaned up as best she could with just water and her hands, although she wished she had something to wrap herself in before going back out there. The moment had passed, the marijuana buzz gone, but she still had to walk naked into the light of day before a couple of guys used to seeing younger and tighter bodies. She took a deep breath, settling her racing heart, and exited.
Only Paul was there, sitting forward on the sofa, elbows resting on his thighs. Robin let go of a little anxiety, although it came back as he looked up at her. “Where’s Brandon?”
“He took off. He said to tell you, ‘Thanks.’”
“You stayed?” She was happy that he had.
He skimmed her nudity and felt his cock stir, despite having cum twice already. Even standing right there, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He recognized a once-in-lifetime situation when he saw it. It wasn’t time to be shy, but he was still having a hard time looking her in the eyes.
“I was wondering if you needed help setting up your bedroom.” God, he’d actually said it, he thought. He held his composure under Robin’s enigmatic stare.
At last, she smiled and tilted her head to the side. “You know, now that you mention it, I do need help with the mattress.”
Paul rose, tall and cut, his cock partially swelled. “So, think you know where you packed your bikini?”
“Mm…I think we can find it.”
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