Chapter 1

Paula Oldham counted five reasons to be pissed, ticking them off on her fingers. She would have gone higher but she needed the other hand to haul her bag to the luggage cart.

One, she counted, starting with the most recent: The peach-fuzzed limo driver called her ma'am. Ma'am was for old ladies. She showed him who was a ma'am, grabbing her suitcase out of his hand. It would have been a better idea if it weren't so damn heavy.

Two was that exhibition she'd witnessed at the end of the reception. How dare they? And on her twenty-fifth anniversary, no less.

Of course, that was three. Twenty-five years of wedded -- well, not bliss. But the quality of their marriage wasn't what pissed her off. It was the simple fact that no one who has a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is ever going to be a young woman again.

Try as she might, she could not hold back the forces of nature without resorting to unnatural resources. No longer could she boast that her blonde hair was all her own. No longer did all her assets stay in their assigned places without artificial support. No longer was her primary cosmetic goal seduction; it was frankly camouflage.

Sure, she had done all her exercises and eaten right and all that. Not an ounce of fat on her. But what was the use of looking after your outsides when your insides were falling apart? Which was four: that damn operation. Why didn't Teri need an operation? She'd let herself get seedier with every one of her five kids, but still she was in great health. Or Pete? The beating his last ex-wife gave him should have been enough to put him in the hospital for a month, and he had gotten skinny as a stick, but he just kept shuffling on.

No, it was Paula who had to go under the knife. OK, the operation was a success, but it wasn't fair that she should have had to go through it at all. And it sure wasn't fair that she should have to live by the doctor's orders.

Which was five: no sex. No sex! For three months. Was that doctor insane? Or a eunuch?

So this lunatic doctor sentences her to three months without sex. Which finally end on her anniversary night, thank you very much, gods of irony. What good does that do her? After all she'd been through?

You try explaining to a lover why you're putting yourself on ice. Tell the truth? Yeah, that would do wonders for your sex appeal. Guys do not want damaged goods. So you lie, and they have the gall to not believe you. Or they do, but what difference does it make, because in three months they'll forget you anyway.

And don't think it will do any good to offer other ways to satisfy them. That just brings up more questions you don't want to answer.

That was how crappy the last three months had been. No sex, no lovers left. She was going to have to start all over again, and she wasn't as young as when she could get guys just by winking. Shit. She couldn't even seduce her husband. And she needed it bad.

Paula slammed the bag onto the luggage trolley and straightened up. Steve was still jabbering with the desk clerk. She made a bee-line to a comfy-looking chair and plopped into it, crossing her legs. That felt good, she thought. She rubbed her ankles, continuing up her silky hose to her thighs, brushing aside the bottom of her short, dark green dress before she remembered where she was.

When she looked up, she caught the bellboy staring at her legs. That felt good. He was just a bellboy, with emphasis on the boy. But at least he was looking.

For that matter, she thought, so had the barely-an-adult stripper in his barely-there costume at her barely-entertaining bachelorette party the week before.

The guy, who said his name was Guy, was just about the only thing that made the party worthwhile. Well, that and the booze.

Certainly not the company. Most of Paula's friends had gotten too old to be fun, like saggy, baggy Teri. And the ones who hadn't -- they were even more annoying. Lucy, the mouse who grew up to be a princess thanks to her husband's cash, was still dipping into the money supply for regular tuneups. Her face was beginning to get that wind-tunnel look and the birthmark she used to have on her cheek was somewhere around her temple now, but all men noticed was that her tits and ass were as perky as ever.

Since Lucy had modeled her makeover on the young Paula, she produced a spooky Dorian Grey effect whenever they were in the same room together. Paula did not appreciate feeling like the dusty portrait up in the attic.

Bobbi Jo at least had the decency to age, but she somehow had continued to add to her string of "proteges." The latest was an Asian girl -- May Lin couldn't have been more than eighteen -- who had such an amazing rack on her small frame that you always expected her to tip over.

It was Bobbi Jo who insisted on the bachelorette party, "just like old times," but it was Lucy who arranged for the stripper and offered the use of her home.

He was cute; Paula would give him that. Six-foot-three, easy. Built, too, but not like those weird gym dandies who get so over-muscled they look like Michelin Men. Guy had just the right bulges -- in all the right places, as he proved when he finally peeled off his Speedo.

Paula had been watching him watching her, and she took personal credit for the condition of his cock when it bounced into view.

Since she felt responsible for his erection, it seemed only right that she take care of it for him. Elbowing that tramp Lucy aside, Paula pulled Guy to her and kissed his waggling cockhead.

That mix of firm and yielding, the way the bulbous head felt against her pursed lips -- she'd missed that so much. She spent several minutes just tasting his rod all over with licks and nibbles before she opened her mouth and swallowed him.

Just like riding a bicycle, she told herself as Guy began to moan. He soon tried to grab her head and fuck her mouth, but she was having none of that. It had been too long. She wasn't letting anyone rush her.

His moans turned into whimpers and his legs started to shake. He begged her to get him off. But Paula just pushed him down to the floor and knelt next to him, using everything she'd learned to keep him on the edge.

Finally the scent of his passion got to her -- that, and the ache in her jaw. She fucked him with the tight ring of her lips while jacking him off at the base. He burst with a roar, splashing cum into her mouth like a fountain. She let most of it drip out, guessing Lucy would be delighted to clean him off.

She guessed right. But when Lucy brought his cock back and tried to mount him, Guy begged off, saying he was too tired. He grabbed up his costume and ran off to the bathroom to put on his street clothes.

He didn't look too tired when Paula went back a few minutes later, intending to slip him her phone number and an invitation to call her in a couple of weeks.

She knocked on the bathroom door but got no response. It sounded like the shower was running, so she went inside to slip her info into his bag.

There was more than one silhouette behind the foggy shower door. And to gauge by the groans that got louder and louder, whoever was in there with him was getting one hell of a fuck. A fuck that should have been hers, Paula thought.

She could make out enough from the fuzzy outlines to see that the woman was wrapped around Guy, arms encircling his neck, legs gripping his waist. He was standing straight and tall. Paula felt her pussy grow wet and cursed her operation.

A hand shot out of the fog and slapped onto the shower door, palm out. The groans were becoming shrieks. Paula was trying to remember which of the women had been missing from the living room when three things happened at once: The rest of the women squeezed into the bathroom to see what all the noise was about; the shrieks from the shower warbled into the unmistakable sound of a woman in orgasm; and Bobbi Jo matched the volume with her scream when she recognized May Lin.

Paula was so lost in the memory that she jumped when her husband tapped her on the shoulder. "Room's ready," he said.

As she squeezed into the elevator with Steve and the luggage trolley and the bellboy, she had a fierce desire to cup the kid's ass and proposition him right in front of her husband. Of course, she'd felt the same way about their driver, even after that "ma'am." And about the 12-year-old she'd bumped into leaving the reception. And two old bums they'd passed in the limo.

God, she thought, she was horny.

Steve's hand hovered over the bag of Fritos. An old movie, a can of Miller -- he pulled his hand back and patted his gut.

It really was shrinking, he assured himself. Slow but steady. Don't give up.

He grabbed a couple of rice cakes and a bottle of water from the fridge. Sinking into his recliner, he promised himself he'd get in a half-hour of exercise after the movie.

The doorbell rang. He grunted and got up. This was supposed to be a quiet night. Paula had given him a lot of those. Yesterday she'd been out all night at her bachelorette party; then it was something about having to go out with Bobbi Jo to cheer her up.

Who was supposed to cheer him up? For that matter, where was his bachelor party? The only thing he got to prepare for their anniversary was the bill -- and it was a whopper.

In a sour mood, he opened the front door. He almost slammed it closed again, but the woman outside held out a hand and caught it.

Steve stared. "This isn't Halloween," he said. "What gives?"

The blonde in the nurse's uniform with the glittering silver mask silently handed him an envelope. While he tore it open, she stepped past him into the house, carrying a boombox.

"Happy Anniversary," the card in his hand read. "You didn't go to a bachelor party, so it's coming to you, courtesy of your loving wife."

He was still puzzling over the message when music began blaring from his bedroom. He followed the sound.

As he walked into the room, the nurse grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed. She stepped back and began to sway. The sway became a dance. The dance became a strip.

His questions were ignored. The woman just moved to the music as she peeled off her tight-fitting white dress to reveal a stacked body in silky lingerie.

She wiggled her chest in his face a few times before taking off her bra and tossing it in his lap. It landed on the rising bulge in his sweatpants.

As the woman danced and jiggled, Steve couldn't get over the impression that she looked familiar. That seemed unlikely. He didn't know a lot of strippers. Well, not any.

With her tits bouncing, she was groping herself all over. When her hand dove inside her panties, Steve almost came in his shorts. This was getting way out of bounds, he thought. Paula would never have set this up. He stood up to protest.

The stripper stepped forward and pushed him back down. An instant later she had ripped off her panties. She was down to a garter belt, white stockings, towering white heels, the mask and a nurse's cap. Everything else was bare flesh.

She straddled his legs and pushed his back onto the mattress. Steve tried to struggle, but that only allowed her to grind her naked pussy against his crotch.

He tried to wriggle away. She grabbed hold of his waist and yanked off his sweatpants and shorts. His cock bobbed in the air, rock hard.

Before he could react, her lips were on his rod. He lost a lot of his will to fight as he gave in to desire.

She sucked him deep. He closed his eyes and sighed. It didn't take long before he was spurting hot jism down her throat.

She held him in her mouth until he got hard again. Quickly she crawled on top of him, but he mustered his strength and pushed her off. Scrambling off the bed, he grabbed a corner of the duvet to cover himself.

"Get out," he said. "I'm a married man! I shouldn't -- you --"

The stripper plucked off her mask.

Steve gasped.

"Lucy!"

"Paula asked me to help you out," she said. "With her being -- out of circulation, so to speak -- I'm her gift to you. See, it's all right. No risk, no mess. Don't you like your present?"

She was on her back, her legs spread. Steve was stunned. He realized why her body had been so familiar. She looked like Paula had when they were first married.

He hesitated. "Are you sure Paula meant --"

Lucy used two fingers to spread her pussy lips apart. "It was her idea," she purred.

Steve yanked off his T-shirt and climbed onto the bed.

He poised over her cunt, ready to tongue her, but she pulled him up. "I'm more than ready," she said.

His dick slid into her smoothly. They fell immediately into rhythm, her legs spread wide to let him push all the way in.

When he kissed her, she tasted like sweet wine. Her tongue sought out his lustily. Her nails dug into his back and they screwed like cats in a sack.

It went on for an hour, rolling around on his bed. He ended up on his knees behind her, gripping her tits as his balls slapped against her flesh, burying his rod in her again and again.

They came together, a hot rush of cum squirting out as she slammed her ass back at him.

Minutes later, as she was getting dressed, Lucy paused and cleared her throat. Steve looked up.

"There is one thing I should tell you," she said. "About Paula asking me to do this? That might not have been exactly true."

Paula tapped her foot impatiently. Where were the girls with her gown?

She had not been thrilled with the idea of a full-blown ceremony, anyway. Marching down the aisle and everything! But Suzy had been so insistent -- "Please, Mom! You'll look great!" What had really convinced her, though, was when she thought of having all her old bridesmaids relive their roles, too.