This was Nala's second Mother's Day spent alone.
She wandered through the spacious, aging house she shared with her husband—a grand home with multiple bedrooms, a private pool, a gym and the quiet hum of absence echoing through its halls. Her husband, fifteen years her senior, was away at a conference. His three children, from a previous marriage, were spending the weekend with their mother.
So the house was silent. Empty.
As Nala floated in the pool beneath the warm spring sun, her thoughts drifted. Life now was a far cry from what it had once been. She had a wild, lucrative past—one she'd left behind the day she married her husband. Three years sober, she had walked away from the chaos that once defined her: the parties, the drugs, the sex-fueled whirlwind of her career as a former adult film star.
Here, she had reinvented herself. To the neighbors, she was just Nala—the sweet, blonde, quiet wife who mostly kept to herself. No one here knew the version of her that once went viral.
Despite the dramatic lifestyle change, Nala maintained a flawless physique—if not for herself, then for the man she'd chosen to build a quieter life with. But there was one crack in her otherwise polished facade: she couldn't get pregnant. A likely consequence of years lived recklessly, though no doctor could say for certain.
Feeling the sun's intensity rise, Nala headed back inside and found a bottle of tequila tucked deep in a cabinet. She hadn't touched alcohol in years, but today felt different. Today felt... hollow. A single margarita, she reasoned, wasn't the end of the world. She made the drink, added ice, and stepped back outside.
That's when she noticed Sly, her neighbor, watching from across his yard. He was fit, handsome, and just a few years older than she was. There was a calm intensity about him—someone used to being in control but comfortable watching from the edges. She'd caught herself wondering about him more than once, though she never acted on it. He was married too, though childless. His wife worked long hours, and so did he—often from home.
"Any plans this weekend?" Nala called out, lifting her glass in a casual wave.
Sly looked up, smiling. "Not really. Our AC's busted, and the repair guy won't be here till tomorrow. Bit of a sauna in there."
"Well, if you want to cool off, you're welcome to come over," she offered, her tone light, almost teasing.
Sly laughed softly and nodded. She turned back to her drink, but she felt his gaze linger.
When Nala and her husband first moved in, Sly had thought she looked familiar. It took him weeks to place her face. One night, in a moment of curiosity—or loneliness—he searched deeper. A few clicks led him to her past. Her stage name. Her old content.
The resemblance was undeniable.
His discovery had shaken him. Not because he judged her—but because he couldn't stop watching. He'd found her old OnlyFans archive, long abandoned but still floating around in digital shadows. There she was—on screen, confident, uninhibited, and breathtakingly raw.
And now, seeing her across the yard in a robe with a bikini beneath it, Sly felt a familiar tension rise in his body.
"Sure," he called out, voice smooth but low. "Let me grab my trunks."
He disappeared inside. Nala took another sip of her drink, her nerves fluttering. She wasn't entirely sure what this was—harmless flirtation, boredom, or something she didn't want to name.
When Sly returned, shirtless and barefoot, Nala felt a slow pulse deep in her stomach. His chest was sculpted, lightly dusted with hair, and his swim trunks clung low on his hips. But it wasn't just his body that drew her eyes—it was the pronounced shape pushing forward beneath the thin fabric of his trunks.
The bulge was impossible to miss. Thick, heavy, prominent.
Her eyes paused there for half a breath too long. Something hot stirred inside her—part memory, part curiosity, part ache.
He saw the glance. And he didn't look away.
"Looks like the heat's already getting to you."
He grinned but didn't deny it. "You said to come cool off."
She slipped off her robe, revealing a toned, golden-tanned body in a sleek bikini that barely concealed anything. Her breasts were full, nipples pressing against the thin fabric. The bottoms rode high on her hips, accentuating the curve of her ass.
They entered the water, and for a moment the silence between them held something electric. Nala turned her back to him as she leaned forward on the ledge of the pool, her arms resting on the warm stone.
Behind her, Sly watched, body aching. Slowly, without a word, he pushed his trunks down beneath the water and let them drift to the bottom of the pool—naked now, silently bold, hidden beneath the surface.
Then she felt it.
The unmistakable press of something hot, hard, and bare sliding between the cheeks of her ass.
Her breath hitched.
Sly came in close behind her, chest to her back, erection pressed firmly against her bikini-clad body.
His voice was low, right at her ear. "I know everything, Nala."
She froze—but didn't pull away.
"I've seen the videos. The way you used to move. The red hair. The way you took everything they gave you."
A shiver ran down her spine.
"And now you're here," he whispered, grinding slowly against her, his cock trapped between her ass and the thin strip of fabric. "Pretending like you're someone else."
"You didn't seem to mind watching," she whispered.
"Fuck no," he growled. "I haven't stopped."
He turned her gently and pressed her back against the pool's edge. Her breath caught as she saw him—fully naked, thick and veined, cock standing tall between them.
"You took them off," she murmured, voice hoarse.
"I wasn't going to wait."
He pulled her bikini top down, exposing her breasts to the open air, water droplets clinging to her nipples. His mouth found them quickly, tongue swirling, sucking hard enough to make her moan.
Then his hand slipped down, pulling her bikini bottom to the side.
"You're soaked," he said, rubbing her slick folds.
She gasped. "It's the pool."
He gave her a look that said don't lie to me, and then, with a growl, lifted her.
She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed the head of his cock against her opening. One slow, powerful thrust—and he was inside.
"Oh—god," she cried.
Sly moaned, holding her tight as he buried himself deep. "So fucking tight..."
He moved with steady, grinding thrusts, water splashing softly around them. Her hands dug into his shoulders as he fucked her, her cries growing louder with each stroke.
"Harder," she panted. "Don't stop."
"I've waited so long for this," he growled, slamming into her faster now, her ass hitting the edge of the pool with each thrust.
The tension coiled in her stomach, tight and unbearable. "Sly—fuck—I'm close—!"
"Come for me, Nala."
Her body locked up, her walls clenching around him as she cried out, legs trembling. "I'm coming—oh fuck—!"
Sly groaned deep in his throat and thrust hard twice more before he exploded inside her, cock twitching as he spilled hot and thick into her pulsing core.
They held each other in the water, trembling, panting, every inch of their bodies tangled in something far more dangerous than lust.
The silence afterward was heavier than before.
Nala stayed wrapped around him a moment longer, her cheek against his shoulder, breath slowing. The water stilled around them, gentle ripples softening the echoes of their release.
But her body—traitorous, sated—began to speak in ways her mind couldn't ignore.
She felt it first as a subtle shift between her thighs. A slow, slick warmth leaking from her, mingling with the cool water. His seed, thick and unmistakable, slipping out of her and into the pool.
Her breath caught, stomach twisting.
Reality returned all at once, too sharp to ignore.
She unwrapped her legs from his waist and pushed away, wading to the far side of the pool without looking at him. Her arms folded across her bare chest, shielding herself more from shame than modesty.
Sly stayed where he was, breathing hard, still half-lost in the aftermath.
When she finally turned to face him, her eyes were darker, stormier.
"What the fuck did we just do?" she said.
He didn't answer right away. His gaze searched hers, unreadable.
Nala's voice dropped, bitter now. "I invited you over for a drink, not to... not to fuck me in my husband's pool."
"You didn't stop me," he said quietly.
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't put this on me."
She felt the heat rising in her cheeks—part fury, part embarrassment, part the fading blush of arousal she couldn't deny. Her body still hummed. Her thighs still ached. And that sensation—the one she couldn't stop noticing—of his release trickling from her, made everything worse. It made it real.
"I'm married," she said, more to herself than to him. "And you—"
"I know," he cut in gently.
She shook her head, backing up until she hit the pool's edge. "You knew who I was. You knew everything about me—and you still stood there, letting me believe this was innocent."
"It wasn't innocent the moment you called me over," Sly said, stepping toward her now, slow and unthreatening. "You wanted something. So did I."
She flinched at his honesty. Because it was true. That was the worst part.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for her top, dragging it back over her chest with shaky hands. The water clung to her skin, cooling now, and still—
still
—there was that slippery reminder of what they'd done clinging to her insides, slowly bleeding into the space between them.
"I shouldn't have let you touch me," she said, her voice breaking.
He came closer, lowering his voice. "But you did. And your body didn't lie."
She looked up at him then, something sharp in her eyes. "Don't mistake what my body wanted for what I wanted."
And yet—even as she said it—she wasn't sure which part of her she believed.
Nala dipped lower in the pool, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Her body still pulsed from what had just happened, but now her mind was sprinting—running laps around guilt, denial, and something darker that she couldn't name.
She needed to get out. Dry off. Breathe.
But as she moved to adjust her swimsuit, she froze.
Her bikini bottom was gone.
Her heart skipped. She twisted slightly, scanning the water. Nothing. Just the lazy shimmer of light rippling across the surface.
"Shit," she muttered.
Behind her, Sly's voice came—calm, too calm. "Looking for these?"
She turned.
He stood now—out of the water, tall and bare in the sun, water cascading down his skin. And in his hand, dangling loosely from his fingers, were her bikini bottoms.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't just that he was naked. It was how completely unashamed he was. His body still carried the weight of their collision—muscles taut, skin flushed, and between his legs, he was still thick, not quite soft, the fullness of him impossible to ignore.
She looked. She couldn't not look.
It made her stomach tighten in a confusing knot of anger and want.
His eyes caught hers—
