Just something different: a short series of three stories about a young guy and a neighbor's hotwife. While they are related, they can be read in any order. I will post them on consecutive days, but it's not up to me when they appear.
Ronnie Barkley was my best friend, and had been for the last 13 years. It wasn't uncommon for me to be knocking on his front door, "calling for him," at about 10:30 on a summer morning.
It also wasn't uncommon for Ronnie's mother, Mrs. Barkley, to answer the door.
"He won't be back until tonight, Travis," she responded. "Andy got four tickets to the Mets game and he took Ronnie, Vivian and Derek with him."
Andy--Mr. Barkley--worked for one of the airlines and would occasionally get perks like sports tickets. He had taken his youngest three children with him. I was guessing the couple's oldest child, Darlene, was out somewhere with her longtime boyfriend, Davie.
"Okay, thanks Mrs. Barkley," I answered and started to turn away to leave when she stopped me.
"You know, it's kind of lonely right now. You could come in and hang around with me for a bit while I do some chores. I would really like that," Mrs. Barkley said.
I looked up into Mrs. Barkley's big brown eyes and saw a hint of a smile. I had known her as long as I knew Ronnie, so I knew she was sincere in her request.
"Okay, I said, as she pushed open the storm door and I started to walk into the house. It was then that I actually looked completely at Mrs. Barkley and saw what she was--and wasn't--wearing.
At 42, Mrs. Barkley wasn't a bad-looking woman for her age, but I hadn't really looked at her before as I was right then, particularly the way she was dressed. It looked like she was wearing a pair of Darlene's tight, short jean shorts, and was doing a great job of that, and it looked like she was wearing one of Vivian's T-shirts -- braless. Darlene was 19 and just a little smaller than her mother, but Viv was only 12, and it looked like Mrs. B had been stuffed into that shirt. I'd guess that Mrs. Barkley was only an A cup, but I could see that her nipples were sticking out at least a half-inch through the thin material.
I was transfixed. I know my dick got rock hard and jumped.
She smiled shyly and blushed.
"So the first thing I'm doing--obviously--is the laundry. Come on. You can carry the basket for me," she said with a big smile.
The first thing she did was grab the big laundry basket on the main floor and hand it to me. She then went into Derek's and Viv's bedrooms and picked up clothes off the floor, keeping me entranced by bending over in front of me in those oh-so-tight, short shorts. Then she would straighten up in front of me with those nipples sticking out like bullets.
I think I might have drooled.
We went downstairs next, and Mrs. Barkley repeated the scene in Darlene's and Ronnie's rooms. I'm not sure I could have been harder.
"Well, somebody sure likes doing the laundry!" she enthused.
She loaded the washing machine and I stood there staring. I caught her watching me from the corners of her eyes.
We walked up the stairs to the kitchen and she directed me to a seat. She then straddled me facing forward, her crotch perched atop my hard-on. She looked directly into my eyes.
"Uh... Mrs. Barkley..."
"Shh. It's okay, Travis," she whispered. "Andy's a bit of a goofball. You know that. Well, he's also a willing cuckold..."
There's a word I'd never heard before. I know I gave her a quizzical look.
"You've never heard of a hotwife before, have you?" she asked.
"Uh, no," I said.