You know the type. You’ve seen him around the neighborhood. Sandy hair and big, expressive blue eyes. His skin tanned and his hair bleached by the summer sun. Light muscles developing on a lean body. He’s always quick with a stupid, lopsided smile. He’s a real charmer. A junior Casanova. You know the type.

Marie Carpelli fucked him.

She shouldn’t have done it. She regretted it even as he pulled his dripping cock from her ravaged pussy and his cum dripped down her thighs.

But Marie Carpelli was a lush. Not a drunk, not by any means, but a lush. She loved wine. Though she could afford it, she didn’t drink the expensive bottles. She was perfectly content with a twenty-dollar bottle of chilled chardonnay. A few days a week, she and a few friends would gather together and burn half a case before dispersing to their respective homes to cook dinner for their families.

But sometimes the wine got the best of Marie Carpelli. Sometimes it caused her to engage in conduct unbecoming a wife and mother.

Marie was a striking woman. One would never guess that she was weeks away from her fortieth birthday. Lustrous black hair flowed over her shoulders when it wasn’t pulled back to reveal the high cheekbones and deep brown eyes that her Italian ancestry had bestowed upon her. Perfect white teeth peeked from between full lips, usually turned up into a smile and dabbed lightly with pink lip gloss, providing a sweet contrast to the deep olive of her flesh.

Barefoot, as she often was during the summer months, she stood a mere four inches above five feet. Soaking wet, as she often was around the family pool, she weighed a notch under 110 pounds. And this woman filled a bathing suit like it was meant to be filled. Not the one-piece ensembles that most of her friends wore, either.

Bikinis. Nothing so daring as string bikinis, but they still came in two pieces. The bottom pieces fully covered her succulent little pussy, giving no hint of the landing strip that blazed up from her bare folds. The tops hid the wide areolas that capped her large breasts. Only when wet did the woman’s bikini tops reveal the thick nipples that provided the bull’s eye on her areolas.

Brad Jackson fucked this woman, more than twenty years his senior.

He never saw it coming. He had dreamt of her. He had eyed her through the years that he had known Marie’s daughter. He had lubricated his thick cock in his bathroom at home, spilling his seed into a wad of toilet paper, visions of Mrs. Carpelli wrapped in a stark white bikini blurring his vision. Still, he never saw it coming.

When the day finally arrived, Marie was not wearing such a bikini when Brad presented himself at the Carpelli home. Had he shown his rather innocent face an hour earlier, perhaps, but he was too late.

After a few games of tennis at the club that morning, Marie spent much of the remainder of the day in the sun. Her bronzed flesh glimmered in the blistering heat, slicked with tanning oil. Beads of perspiration bubbled between her soft tits or collected in the sensual curve that formed the small of her back.

But then her sixteen-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, called her from the country club and announced that she was bringing some of her friends back to the house to hang around the pool for a few hours before they went out for the night. Marie knew what that meant. A gaggle of girls, a horde of boys. Including Brad Jackson, Elizabeth’s crush de jour.

Prudently, Marie elected to end her sunning for the day. By the time Elizabeth and her friends arrived, Marie was showered and dressed modestly in a white golf shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. She was barefoot, her tan skin highlighting her freshly painted pink toes.

She padded through the large home in suburban Northbrook and into the kitchen. Through windows sealed tight to ward off the sweltering August heat, Marie heard the clunk of the diving board followed by peals of laughter. She peeked out the kitchen window toward the pool.

Elizabeth and four or five of the girls lounged on chaises or swam around the edges of the pool, their swimsuits so daring for teenage girls. An equal number of boys, in board shorts hanging almost to their knees, were present as well, though most of them were either in the pool or flying through the air toward it, catapulting themselves off the diving board. They were good kids, all of them, but they were hitting that age where hands began to wander.

Marie turned away from the window and moved across the kitchen toward the wine refrigerator, pulling a chilled bottle of Kendall Jackson and popping the cork. After grabbing a wineglass from one of the cabinets, Marie stepped through the French doors that gave onto the raised deck overlooking the backyard and the pool. She sat at a heavy wrought iron table beneath a light blue umbrella and poured a glass of the amber liquid, enjoying the last vestiges of the sunny afternoon.

Marie was barely through her glass of wine when Heather Bannister turned the corner of the house into the backyard.

“Hey, Marie,” her best friend waved, climbing a few steps from the lawn up to the deck.

“And to what do I owe this surprise?”

“I was just out running some errands. Thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Have a seat. Care to join me?” Marie asked, nodding at the perspiring wine bottle.

“You know I do,” Heather responded with a smile, slipping into one of the chairs that surrounded the table. She kicked off her shoes and pulled another chair close, resting her feet on it.

Marie slipped into the house, returning just a moment later with an empty glass. After filling it, the two women clinked glasses.

“I see you have company today.”

“Yeah. Elizabeth was at the club all day and brought the party home with her.” Marie shrugged and took a sip of her wine.

“Where’s Tony?” Heather asked, referring to Marie’s husband.

“Working. Of course. He’s doing some audit or something. I think it’s due in a few days, so he’s been at the office late every day this week. And the boys went to a Cubs game with Olivia and her son.”

“Mmm,” Heather hummed, taking a drink.

Over the next hour or so, the two women sat in the shade of Marie’s deck, trading gossip about neighbors, common friends, and certain members of the country club. Two empty bottles sat on the table when Marie returned with a third.

“How do you stand it?” Heather asked quietly as Marie refilled both their glasses.

“Whaddya mean?”

Heather nodded at the kids still horseplaying around the pool. “Look at those boys. They’re not boys at all. They’re men. Young men, but men all the same.”

Heather lit a cigarette, her guilty pleasure, while Marie considered her response.

“YeahÉbut they’re teenagers. And they’re also Elizabeth’s friends.”

“Who cares whose friends they are? I don’t. I can’t keep my eyes off ‘em. My GodÉjust look at those beasts.”

“Heather!” Marie laughed, nearly choking on her wine. “What a little tramp you are.”

“Oh, Marie, don’t be such a fuckin’ prude. I’m not a tramp. Not by any stretch. But I can look. I can fantasize. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

“I guess not.” Marie paused to take a sip at her wine glass. “But really, you don’t want anyone of the prissy bitches in this neighborhood hearing you say things like that. Those tongues would wag and you’d never live it down.”

“Whatever. They’re all of age aren’t they?” Heather reached across the table and stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray, her eyes never leaving the general area of the Carpelli’s pool.

Marie gave a friend a sardonic smile. “Yes, HeatherÉthey’re all of age.”

Heather nodded. “Like that one. What’s his name?”

“Which one?”

“The one on the diving board. In the yellow trunks. What’s his name?”

“That’s Brad. He’s the Jackson boy. You know Wendy, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Heather mumbled, the wine glass muffling her words. “She’s that high-and-mighty bitch who got caught fucking the old tennis pro at the club.”

“Mm-hm. That’s her oldest. One of Lizzie’s classmates. She’s been crushing on him all summer. And I think there’s more going on than just that.”

“Mmmph. What I could do to a boy like that,” Heather grunted.

Marie rolled her pretty brown eyes. “That’s just awful.”

Heather leaned a little over the table and lowered her voice. “No. What’s awful is that kid in your backyard flaunting himself like that. If he did that in my backyard, I’d fuck him until his eyes crossed.”

The two women laughed wildly at the filth coming from Heather’s mouth.

“Jesus, Heather! Keep it clean, would you?”

Thirty minutes later, Heather begged off, having to get home and cook dinner for her family. After she left, Marie settled back to finish her glass of wine before going inside herself. The kids were still lounging around the pool with the sun setting behind them.

She was thinking about what to make herself for dinner, a rare night with no husband and no children to feed, when Brad Jackson bounded up the steps to the deck, water dripping down his hairless chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Carpelli,” he greeted her without stopping on his way to the French doors. “Just need to use the bathroom.”

“No problem, Brad,” she responded to the door that had already swung shut behind the young man.

Taking a final gulp of her wine, Marie rose on wobbly legs and collected the empty bottles, the glasses, and the ashtray, taking them inside and setting them on the kitchen counter. The air in the house was cool and felt good against her sun-baked flesh. She put the bottles in a recycling bin and the glasses in the dishwasher and poured a glass of ice water.

Having played two games of tennis that morning, laid out by the pool all day, and then consumed about a bit too much wine through the early hours of the evening, Marie was feeling somewhat light-headed. With the water glass gripped in her tanned fingers, she left the kitchen and padded into the family room, dropping her slight frame onto the leather couch. She found the remote to the television mounted on the opposite wall and turned it on. The dun-dun of one of the Law & Order variants blared in her ears and she repeatedly punched the volume button on the remote.

A moment later, Brad sauntered into the family room, his pace much slower after having relieved himself. He stopped short and Marie looked up to see a startled look on his face.

“Sorry, Brad. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No problem, Mrs. Carpelli. It’s just that a minute ago you were outside and, you know, now you’re here. That’s all.” A quirky smile crossed his face, as though it were a revelation that a person could move from one place to the next in a matter of minutes.

ÔNot the brightest kid on the block,’ Marie thought to herself.

“I had to get out of the heat. I can’t take it like you young kids can. Gets me dehydrated,” she said, finishing her ice water.

“Bet the wine doesn’t help, either, huh?”

“Wine is fine, Brad,” she dryly responded. “What would you know about that, anyway?”

The kid actually blushed. “JustÉnothing. I just hear stuff.”

Marie smirked at him, but let it slide. “Anyway, yeah, the wine dehydrates me, too.”

“Here,” he said, moving toward the married woman, his hand out. “Let me get you a refill.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get it myself.” She unfolded her legs as if to get up.

“Nah. I’m already up. I’ll get it for you.” Brad retrieved the glass from Marie’s hand and she relaxed against the back of the couch. Ice clattered into a glass and then the tap on the front of her refrigerator clicked open.

In the kitchen, Brad glanced through the French doors toward the pool. Elizabeth and their friends were still hanging around the edges of the pool. His eyes glazed over as he imagined the woman on the couch slipping into the kitchen and taking his cock deep into her throat, her head bobbing on him until he splashed his cum all ... Ice-cold water pouring over his hand snapped him from his daydream, and he hurriedly found a towel to clean up the mess.

When he returned to the family room, Brad handed the glass to Marie over her shoulder. Taking it, she turned her head up and around, facing him, her chocolate eyes smiling back at him. “Thanks, Brad. You’re a sweetheart.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Carpelli.” He paused a moment. “You look beat.”

“Just a little sore and a little thirsty, that’s all. I played tennis for a while this morning and I’m a little sore.”

Brad remained standing behind the housewife as she took a drink from the water glass. Placing his fingers at the base of her neck, he said, “Put your head forward. This’ll make you feel better.” The warmth of her taut skin radiated through his fingertips and sent a jolt through his cock.

But the contact startled Marie. “Really, Brad, thatÉthat isn’t necessary.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeahÉbut I’ll do it anyway. It’ll make you feel better.”

Rather than protest the inappropriate contact between a sixteen-year-old student and a thirty-nine-year-old housewife, Marie allowed her head to slump forward, her lustrous black hair falling over her shoulders, shrouding her face and hiding her olive-skinned beauty.

Brad’s fingers dug into her tight neck muscles, kneading the flesh, and a small moan escaped Marie’s full lips. When his massaging fingers strayed off from her neck to her shoulders, Marie’s head flopped back, bumping against the front of the young man’s swimsuit.

ÔOh my!’ she thought, feeling a thick ridge against the back of her head. She leaned her head forward a few inches, withdrawing. ÔWhat that hisÉhis cock?’ she wondered, her sun-drenched head swimming in fermented Napa Valley grapes as his strong hands continued to knead the taut muscles in her shoulders and upper back.

Intrigued, Marie gradually let her head loll against the young man. When it settled against the front of his trunks again, she knew her gut reaction had been right. She slowly rolled her head from left to right and a twitch jerked against her scalp. ÔOh my God,’ she thought, her pretty eyes snapping wide.

Brad took a step backward, breaking their contact, but his strong hands continued to work Marie’s shoulders. When he stepped back, her head followed, bent awkwardly over the back of the couch. She peered up at him, her head nearly upside-down, her world inverted.

Inches from her brown eyes, the engorged ridge that had pressed into her skull squirmed beneath the yellow fabric of the young man’s bathing suit. Her mind flashed back to Heather’s filth. ÔWhat I could do to a boy like that.’ When it twitched again, Marie’s eyes drifted up to meet his.

Brad watched her. He saw her glassy, wine-hazed eyes lock on his growing shaft, then go wide as it twitched. He witnessed the slight flaring of her nostrils. He watched intently as she gently bit her lower lip.

Slowly, Marie raised a hand from her lap, bringing it up behind her. With her head still hanging off the back of the couch, she reached toward Brad until her hand found his hip. Her pink nails found the seam of the pocket of his bathing suit and her slender fingers closed around the fabric. She pulled the teenager closer to her inverted face.

Or, more accurately, she pulled the young man’s cock closer to her plush lips.

She kept pulling until the front of his bathing suit brushed against her forehead. Until the fabric grazed over her nose. Marie turned her head slightly to the side, her fingers still gripping the damp fabric, still pulling him until she felt the stiff shaft press against her soft, tan cheek, confirming what she already knew: Brad Jackson had a hard-on, and she had caused it.

Marie released her grip on the pocket. Her fingers found the drawstring to his trunks, wrapped it around her finger, and gently pulled. Her eyes floated again to his. There was no discomfort in his deep blue eyes. There was no trepidation there. Only confidence.

The drawstring gave way to her tugs.

“Pull it down,” she whispered, the provocative words tumbling across her lips without having been checked first by her brain.

“Do it yourself, Mrs. Carpelli,” the confident young man whispered in return.

Marie blinked, her heart racing. A tremor ran through her hands. Still prone and upside-down, her radiant hair cascading over the back of the couch, Marie arched her back and raised her other hand behind her. The long, elegant fingers of each hand closed around the damp fabric of the kid’s swim trunks. She tugged, coaxing the material over his young hips. As the suit slid slowly down, Brad’s sparse wispy pubic hair came into view. The smell of chlorine mixed with sunscreen overwhelmed the woman’s her flaring nostrils.

Marie pulled more, harder, revealing the pinkish root to his shaft. She strained, her back arched off the couch, her large tits wobbling in her bra, her arms barely able to extend any further. With a final downward tug, Brad’s bathing suit let go, sliding down his thighs and falling to the floor, a puddle around his bare feet.

Marie’s ministrations had forced Brad’s young cock to a downward angle, but when the bathing suit fell, releasing it, the shaft sprang back up, whisking through her silky hair, right by her ear. The thick slab of pink flesh bobbed before her face, just inches from her soft, full lips. Her wet, pink tongue darted out, glossing over her lips, bearing witness to her sudden hunger.

“Give me that.”

Brad stepped forward. His overheated cockhead brushed against Marie’s full lips. Her buttery tongue snaked out again, but Brad slowly turned his hips, the fleshy stalk just out of reach of her mouth.

Marie’s eyes shot from his cock to his smirking face. “I said give me that,” she hissed.

“Give you what?” Brad taunted, his voice matter-of-fact.

“Give me that cock,” the married woman pleaded.

“Give it to you where?” Brad enjoyed this game of cat-and-mouse, swinging his heavy cock close to her yearning lips.

“In my mouth,” she breathed, the need almost dripping from her lips. “I want it in my mouth.”

“You mean you want me to put my cock in your mouth, Mrs. Carpelli?” the young man teased, his voice feigning innocence as the hot flesh of his cockhead swiped across her shiny lips. He let it rest there, heavy and scalding, the veins pulsing.

“Yesssss,” came another hiss.

“You want me to fuck your pretty little faceÉ” he began, taking himself by the root of the shaft and tapping the engorged head against her upper lip, splatters of pre-cum flecking her cheek. “Éjust like I fuck your daughter’s pretty little face?”

Marie opened her mouth to respond, but Brad didn’t give her the opportunity. When her full lips parted, Brad dropped the head of his cock against them and slid the bulbous crown into her hot, sucking mouth. Her lips stretched around the invading shaft and clamped down on it, pulling his foreskin back, eliciting a groan from deep in the teenager’s throat.

Brad withdrew his cock slowly, Marie’s plump lips rippled over veins that pulsed just beneath the unblemished flesh, and her lip gloss smeared along the length of his fat shaft. When he pushed back in, his cockhead bumped against the back of her throat, causing her to gag. Saliva ran from the corner of her mouth, leaving a glimmering streak along her cheek.