It had been eight months since the divorce.
She could still remember the gut-wrenching sight of her husband, whom she had intended to surprise with a dinner date while he worked late, bending his secretary over the desk in his office, her skirt high and her panties low. The buxom blonde was shaking as he pounded himself into her, and he was gasping so much that it took him a second to register that the door had opened.
And his excuse! She was too experienced, he said. He wanted someone more innocent, someone he could mold. Plus, he said, he wanted someone with bigger tits. He had spent a long enough time kneading and sucking on her 36Cs, though.
The betrayal and the subsequent drawn-out divorce proceedings made her withdraw from the world. Her friends said she should get out and date, or at least fuck, but she hadn't been up for it. Warm baths and vibrators had been her paramours.
But that had begun to change. The other night, she had gone to a bar, nervous and fidgety. A couple of drinks later, her awkwardness had faded. Two drinks after that, and she was on her back in her bed, a handsome guy (who had bought one of those drinks) fucking her silly. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to have a long, smooth cock -- a real dick -- between her legs. And the next day as he showered, she hopped in with him, got down on her knees, and washed his cock with her tongue as hot water spread in curtains over her.
She smiled as she remembered.
The sound of her shed's rattling door caught her attention. Oh, right, it was Tuesday, when Danny came over. She had hired him, the boyfriend of a friend's daughter, some time in the fall. She needed someone to tend things now that she lived alone; he needed money. Usually, she was at work when he came over, but her schedule had changed. Unaccustomed to someone else on her property, she leaned back in her office chair and saw him pulling out the lawnmower.
Her newly reawakened sex drive took in his tall, muscular frame, his short, sandy hair, and his snug T-shirt. He was eighteen now, heading off to college in just a few weeks. Maybe a little fling with him would be just the thing.
***
She had brushed out her curly black hair. The flowery, knee-length sun dress she had changed into had spaghetti straps that exposed her pale shoulders and a generous amount of cleavage. She needed to start tanning, she thought. Still, she figured a 30-year-old sex bomb could seduce the teenager outside. The set-up was a bit trite, like a bad porn flick, but what could it hurt?
"Danny!" she called out. He still had the mower running, but he saw her waving from the patio door. He turned off the engine.
"I need your help with something inside."
"Do you want me to finish the lawn first, Mrs. White?"
"No, " (God no, she thought as her pussy tingled in anticipation) "I'll finish it tomorrow. I need your help moving some things." That was true; she had to go through some boxes in the guest bedroom closet. She had planned to do it in the winter, but this would get Danny where she wanted him.
She led him upstairs and told him the plan: She would get on the footstool, pull down boxes, and hand them to him. He'd put them on the floor so she could reorganize them.
She had moved a few boxes, straining and stretching far more than necessary, when she glanced down out of the corner of her eye and saw what she had hoped.
"Danny! Are you looking up my dress?"
"Uh, n-no, Mrs. White. Sorry, I was just looking up."
"Yeah, looking up my dress! Trying to see my ass!"
"N-no. Honest." He backed away as she came down the steps, her eyes fuming with false rage.
"You weren't, huh?"
"No, I swear!"
She let a pout form on her lips. "God, Bill was right. My ex-husband? Said I had let myself go. I thought it was so cruel, but maybe he's right. Not even an 18-year-old male -- horniness incarnate -- thinks I have a nice ass anymore."
Danny was obviously confused. "Mrs. White, don't say that. That was a mean thing for him to say. You do have a nice ass."
"But you said you weren't looking. You couldn't even be bothered to sneak a peak up my dress."
"Uh."
She pressed her advantage. "Well, which is it? Did you look or not? Neither sounds very sincere at the moment. Let's settle this once and for all." With that, and before he could react, she turned around, leaned forward, grabbed the hem of her dress, and lifted it high.
She was wearing a green lace thong, and she felt the rush of cold air on her naked cheeks as she gave Danny a nice look at it. She could hear him gulp. She looked back.
"Well? Is it a nice ass or not?"
"Uh, very nice, Mrs. White."
"Oh, come on, Danny. You said that before. I want to know you're sincere. You don't want me to think you're just being polite, do you? Put your hands on it; let me know you mean it when you compliment me."
There was a pause, and he stepped forward. He put his hands on her ass. She let out a little sigh as she felt them, not too soft and not too rough. She wondered briefly how his fist would feel in her pussy.
"Is it a firm ass, would you say? Am I over the hill? Give it a squeeze." Another pause, and she felt his fingers clench.
"Okay, it's a nice ass, Mrs. White." She turned her head to him, gave him a smile, and said, "Would you like to fuck me, Danny?"
His hands fell away. "I...I can't."
She stood up and turned to him, letting her dress fall again. She leaned toward him and huskily asked, "Why not?"
"I have a girlfriend."
"Well, I won't tell her if you don't."
"I...I really shouldn't."
"Wow, she must be really putting out if you're turning away no-strings-attached sex." She knew his girlfriend wasn't doing any such thing. Molly Fisher was, if anything, more of a prude than her mother.
"Well, we've decided to wait until we're married."
She felt like gagging. "You know what, Danny? That is utter bullshit. Let me tell you something: Your sexual prime -- your highest stamina, your strongest orgasms, your hardest dick -- is right now. Do you know when your girlfriend's is?"
