Prowl 1

Madison Bennett's deep brown eyes tracked the young man through the slits in her kitchen blinds. She liked watching people through the window. It made her feel intensely feline, as if she was some kind of jungle cat, all tensed muscle and poise, waiting for the moment to pounce.

The window overlooked the street, and she often looked out at it while doing the dishes. She liked doing the dishes by hand; there was something about the manual nature of the work that relaxed her, even though she had a dishwasher. The dishwasher was for her husband, who

never

washed dishes if he could help it. But he was out-of-town now. Frankly, Madison preferred it. When he was gone, she felt a kind of self-possessedness that she rarely felt in her daily life. Like the home was hers. The street was hers. And, if she wanted, any man could be hers. She'd never acted on it, of course. Marriage was marriage, after all, and fantasies were fantasies. But the power was addicting all the same. From her window, she tracked her prey.

Today, his name was Trent. He couldn't have been older than twenty-two. Two decades Madison's junior, at least, though you wouldn't have been able to tell by looking at her. She'd been athletic in her youth -- cheerleading and dancing, mainly, though she'd played some volleyball as well. She'd always loved the feeling of men looking at her toned body, and so she worked hard to maintain it into her forties. She knew some women didn't like that feeling, but she never understood that. There was such power in that dynamic. Knowing that a man was admiring her body -- knowing that she could seduce him, control him -- it made her wet just to think about it. Men thought with their dicks, so she made sure to give them something to think about. High, pert breasts; a flat, taut stomach, and a shapely, tightly curved ass were some of her proudest accomplishments, ones she'd worked hard to maintain. She certainly didn't do it for her husband, a former running back who'd let himself go at the first chance he'd gotten. Now Nate was fifty pounds overweight and struggled to get his dick hard on infrequent occasions they actually tried to have sex.

But Trent? Trent was different. Trent walked with the virile confidence of men in their early twenties, when they're all hormones but too stupid to control them. Madison had clocked it from the moment he'd moved in down the street. She'd seen the moving truck while returning from a run. She'd wiped her brow with her arm and slowed to see who the new neighbour was. The back of the truck was open, half-empty. Filled with futons and the mismatching assortment of furniture that told the tale of hand-me-downs for a young couple.

Then Trent exited the front door of the house. His eyes found Madison immediately -- how could they not? Her leggings were a deep blue, outlining her legs perfectly, gripping her ass firmly. It was a hot day, and she'd only run in a matching sports bra, and her tits were slick with sweat from the run. His gaze lingered -- too long. It was then that she knew she had him.

"Hey neighbor!" she called! She waved a hand above her head, knowing it would make her chest sway back and forth. His eyes followed her as she moved. "Just moving in?"

He blinked dully. "Yeah," he said. He looked the part of a dumb blond -- he wore wavy surfer's hair above dreamy eyes, but his tank top-and-shorts combo highlighted his muscular arms and strong legs. Madison wondered idly what sport he'd played, and whether he'd lose it like all the rest. Oh well. She didn't need him for long.

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood!" She smiled a brilliant smile, and he smiled back, nodding slightly.

Oh, I've got him

, thought Madison. "I'm Madison. If you ever need a friend, or someone to help you get acquainted with the neighborhood, feel free to stop on by!"

"I'll do that," said Trent. He hadn't moved at all since coming out of the door, which was still wide open.

Through it, a voice called: "Trent, who are you talking to?" A woman stepped out of the house then. She was short and blonde. Madison thought she was pretty in a boring and safely conventional kind of way, but hardly a showstopper. Everything from her face to the ring on her finger screamed that these two were high-school sweethearts.

An awkward silence gathered between the three people. Madison could practically feel the woman eying her up, her gaze so different from her husband's. She could practically taste the jealousy dripping from the other woman. Not that it mattered. Madison did what she wanted. "I'm Madison!" she said cheerily, "and I live just up the street." She was glad she'd left her ring at home. She always kept it off when her husband was out of town. She noted that Trent wasn't wearing his ring either. Probably from the move, but maybe not; there was no sign of a tan-line there.

Trouble in paradise?

wondered Madison. "Nice to meet you. I heard you call him Trent, is that right?"

"Yeah," said Trent. He still looked stunned, and faintly guilty. "You've got it." Then he shook his head, and seemed to collect himself. "This is Alyssa." He hesitated. "My wife."

Nice to meet you," said Madison, smiling at the younger woman. "I'm always happy to welcome new neighbors." Alyssa nodded politely, but she could practically feel the hate burning from her eyes, as obvious as her husband's lust had been.

Oh yeah,

thought Madison.

This one should be fun.

#

It was only a few days later when Madison pounced. She'd watched Trent come and go from the window, up and down the street. He was a big runner too, it seemed, and he always seemed to do it with his shirt off. From her vantage at the window, she watched his chest and abs twist and flex with every stride. She leaned closer to the window for a better view, and her fingers drifted down, almost unconsciously, between her legs. Today, she wore lose crimson shorts, with a white band along the thigh. She had on no panties underneath. She breathed in sharply when her fingers found her clit through the sheer fabric, rubbing it slowly in circles.

Oh yes. He does look good from here

. Trent had stopped at the curb near the end of her driveway, resting in the shadow of a great tree that canopied the street. Sunlight glimmered through the nest of leaves above and danced across his chest, glistening in the sheen of sweat he wore.

Her fingers pressed harder. She could feel herself getting wet now. She braced herself against the counter with her free hand. Her knees were already beginning to weaken. Her fingers worked in slow circles, chasing pleasure wherever it could be found. She ground her hips forward, syncing their motions with the slow probing of her fingers. Trent had sat down on the edge of the curb. He wasn't wearing a ring today either. She wondered if that was because of the exercise, or if there was something more to it. She pictured herself wandering out to him; maybe with a glass of lemonade. Any excuse to be out there. Complimenting his muscles. Saying she admires a fit man. Letting his gaze linger on her legs. Letting him want it, even more than she already knew he did. And then--

--She bit her lip. Her hand slipped from the front of her shorts to underneath them. She was

so

wet. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this wet. It was hardly the first time that she'd masturbated to a younger man out the window, and she watched porn regularly -- she had a vibrator she hid from her husband because she just

knew

that he'd take it the wrong way, like he'd been replaced (really, is it a replacement if the vibrator handily beats the original), but this was different. She could feel the orgasm building in her, like a coiled spring. Her muscles tensed, her fingers flicking back and forth against the small nub. Her middle finger probed the entrance to pussy, teasing gently, like an uncertain lover's tongue. She watched Trent through lidded eyes. She had a vision of walking up to him while he still sat on the curb, of grabbing the long, tousled blond hair, and just guiding his face to her cunt. She would hold his head the whole time, letting him know that she was in control. She pictured his hands gliding up to find her ass, holding her still as he tongue sank deep into her, or maybe dancing across her lips, her clit. The greed he would feel at tasting her. She could practically

see

his dick growing hard in his shorts as he ate her out. The fantasy was so vivid, so

real

, that if she wasn't half-bent over the counter, weak at the knees, she would get up and--

"

Ohhhghhahhh!"

Madison came then, bending and writhing against the counter. Her knees buckled completely, her fingers still working against her clit. Her shorts were soaked through, but it didn't matter. One leg twitched subsconsciously, and her mouth was agape. She'd lost sight of the real Trent out the window, but it didn't matter. The Trent of her fantasy was licking up every drop of her come, thirsty for everything she would give him. She rubbed her pussy against his face, feeling the grit of the new beard against her shaved lips. His eyes watched her, bright and blue, and when she looked down at her she saw how grateful he was to have made her come.

Her fingers slipped out of her shorts. The world seemed to have slowed down and acquired a fuzzy quality. Madison fixed her hair, adjusted her top. She was the one who was sweaty now. Her lust had subsided somewhat, but not gone entirely. Outside, Trent stood, flexing his back once more, then he checked his watch and took off at a jog again. She watched him go, his taut ass jouncing with each step.

Madison turned to the fridge, her chest still rising and falling. The world was only now just beginning to come back. She checked the calendar there and saw there was still another week before her husband returned. She thought of him returning, walking through the door, hugging her. The speed at which their normal rhythms returned would be swift. Rushed mornings, quiet evenings. An episode of

Game of Thrones

on the couch before bed. Boring, simple things. Sometimes he brought her a gift from wherever he traveled. This week was Baltimore. She wasn't sure what he might bring back from there, nor did it really matter. He was not a bad man, but he was a boring one, and when he was around, life was boring too.

She eyed the calendar again. That blank week stretched ahead, each day seemingly endless in its possibilities.

Madison thought of Trent then, and allowed herself to realize what she wanted.

#

The next day, Madison put her plan into place. It was hotter than the day before, with a humidity that seemed to rest like a damp blanket on the world. When she rose and checked the temperature, she worried it was too hot -- or maybe today would be a rest day, or maybe he might have to work -- all of these thoughts passed through her mind, each threatening to upset her carefully laid plans. Even then, a faint whisper of guilt echoed in her ear. How would her husband feel? She pushed it aside. She was sure he'd never had dalliances of his own -- he was too loyal, too good -- but she had needs, and he wasn't satisfying them. Was she simply to remain frustrated forever?

No. She wouldn't allow this. She spent the morning in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, ensuring that everything was spotless. Then she drove to the store and picked out several of the juiciest-looking lemons she could find. Even squeezing them there, making sure they were firm and ripe, got her excited. She drove home, filled with a sense of certainty. She made the lemonade per a recipe she'd learned long ago, making sure it was sweet and tart. Then it went in the fridge to wait. Just like she was waiting.

The rest of the morning passed agonizingly slowly, punctuated by a single worrisome moment when clouds gathered on the rim of the world like the lip of some roiling dark sea. She watched them through her window, hoping they'd go away. Some part of her feared that all of the nerve she'd gathered to make this decision would fail her if anything interrupted her plan. So she watched the clouds, willing with all her might that they would skirt the neighborhood, and disappear beyond the horizon.

Thirty minutes later, she got her wish. The air stilled and the sun began to shine, unbroken by even faint wisps of cloud. Down the street, she saw the door to his house open. Even from her distant vantage, she could see the torsional pattern of his body as he twisted and bent, prepping for his run. Then, without warning, he began. His long strides took him quickly past her home, his shirtless body already beginning to bead with sweat. There was a brief moment when she thought he glanced her way -- or at least in the direction of the house. It filled Madison with a hot excitement, and she could feel the familiar tensions beginning to boil up inside her.

Waiting for him to return was agonizing. A part of her wanted to touch herself, to tease herself, but she couldn't. If she got too into it -- came too soon -- she might lose her nerve. She wanted to want this. The wanting would drive her forward. There were six days until her husband was due back now. Six days, and anything could happen. While she waited, she went upstairs and changed into a loose-fitting sundress that accentuated her cleavage.

Give him something to look at

, she thought.

Give him something to crave.

Wearing it made her feel sexy. When she felt sexy, she felt as if she could do anything.

Or anyone.

She returned to the window over the kitchen sink, watching the street.

A watched pot never boils

, she thought, but she couldn't look away.

It was several more agonizing minutes before the familiar shape of Trent came striding around the corner, looking as beautiful as ever. His face and chest were red and flushed as he slowed his pace, checking his watch and then finally coming to a stop at the end of the street. He stretched his chest and back and paced about before finally sitting on the curb. Even from here, Madison could see the rise and fall of his body as it worked away his exertions.

Showtime.

#

"You look like someone who could use a glass of lemonade!" called Madison as she walked down the driveway. She had a glass in her hand, and ice

clinked

merrily inside, with bits of lemon pulp dancing between. "Heck of a day for a run, don't you think?"

For a moment, Trent only gawked at her, then he stood up quickly. It occurred to Madison that he would have been able to see her panties under her dress from his angle -- an unplanned, but happy accident -- and when he rose, his face was a deeper red, and his eyes seemed desperate not to flick down the swell of her breast. "Thanks, Mrs..."

Madison laughed. She'd never told him her last name. "Just call me Madison, silly," she said, letting her fingers linger against his when she passed him the glass. "Neighbors don't need to be so formal, you know."

"Y-yeah," he stammered. His bravado seemed to have melted away. Madison smiled. It was only encouraging her, making her more certain.

"Something wrong?" she asked. She took a step closer. Close enough that they could almost touch. "Is the lemonade too sweet?" She took the glass from his nerveless fingers, letting the straw play against her lips. She took a long sip, letting him watch as her lips worked the drink. Then she passed it back, the glass empty.

"Oops," she whispered. "I guess I had more of a... thirst then I realized." She cocked an eyebrow at him, and let a hand run along his tricep. "I have more inside, if you'd like a refill."

It was all happening too quickly for Trent. His mind seemed unable to process what was going on. He opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some kind of protest, but then his hand was in hers, and she was leading him in through the front door.

#

Seeing Trent inside her kitchen made the decision real. Strangely, Madison felt no remorse at all. She wanted this.

She wanted him.

Now she had him, and it was just a matter of letting the rest play out.

"You know," said Madison. "I have a better idea for helping you decompress after all that exercise."

Trent's eyes, which had previously been scanning the kitchen -- perhaps finally accepting that he wasn't in his home, with his wife -- met hers. "Oh I think the lemonade should be ju--"

Madison's hand found the front of his shorts. She squeezed gently. She could already feel that he was half-hard. "Sorry, what was that?" She stroked the outline of his cock through his pants, enjoying the feeling of him growing. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, stepping close to him. They were close enough to hug, but she made no move to bridge the gap. She only kept stroking. His cock was fully hard now, and he was letting out low moans and soft grunts.

"Have you ever been with anyone else?" asked Madison. When he didn't answer the question, she stopped, pulling her hand back. He was rigid as steel in his shorts, his shaft pressing violently against the fabric. Trent actually

whimpered

as she took her hand away, and she almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"When I ask you a question, you answer," said Madison, adopting her sternest, sexiest voice. "Do you understand?"

Trent nodded, his eyes an alluring blend of excitement and shamed.

Madison leaned in close to his ear. "Good boy," she whispered. She felt him shudder at her words. Her hand found the front of his shorts again and began stroking the length of his shaft. The fabric seemed as if it might burst -- or maybe just him. "Would you like me to take it out?" she asked, her mouth still close to his ear. She nipped it softly, and he whimpered again. She could feel herself getting wetter, but there'd be time enough for that later. In this fantasy, it was all about him.

But Trent hadn't answered yet. He was still groaning softly as she stroked him. The sun had shifted in the sky and the light was now peering through the slatted blinds, etching a pattern across his muscular body. It was a beautiful thing to behold, but Madison wouldn't allow herself to rush things. "I asked you a question," she reminded him.

"M-my wife..." He began

"... Doesn't touch you like this?" asked Madison. "Or maybe she doesn't know how? I'm sure you love her very much -- what was she, a high-school sweetheart? But you're a young, attractive man -- haven't you wondered how you might have done if you weren't locked down? How much pussy you might have gotten?" She shook her head. "Oooh... That must be

so

frustrating! Especially if she's not putting out. But I'm sure she is, right?" The question lingered in the air between them.

"Take it out," whispered Trent. He was practically trembling, his back leaning against the counter. "Please," he mumbled.

Hearing him beg ignited a fire within Madison, and it was all she could do not to accelerate this to the end. She forced herself to stay calm -- she'd had time enough to take care of herself later -- and instead looked Trent directly in the eyes. His face, barely a man's face stared back, his eyes blue, desperate, and pleading. She took his chin with her free hand. "Say it again," she said.

"Please," he said, "Please take my dick out."

Madison smiled. "I like when good boys say please." She reached into his shorts, feeling about for his shaft. It wasn't hard to find. She grabbed it around the base, loving the thickness of it in her hand, and then pulled it out, pulling his shorts down to his thighs as he did. "Mmm..." She smiled at him. "It's perfect," she said, and it was -- long and thick and glistening with pre-come. Madison slid to the side of him, using her free arm to pull his head in to rest on her chest. "I'm going to care of you now," she said. "I'm going to take care of you and help you release all of that tension that your nasty wife won't help you with." She felt him grow stiffer in his hands as he rested his head against her chest. "No touching," she said, warning him. "Just enjoy the view."