When I decided to marry Jared, my husband, I knew what I was getting myself into.
He's 58 and I'm 32, so you should see where I'm going with this.
My husband is filthy rich, which makes me not liable to work another day in my life.
To be honest, I don't even lift a finger at home.
He hires people to do my bidding, including the pool boy, Trent.
Well, really, he hired him to clean the pool, but I use him for other things.
But I'll soon get into that.
Today I'm restless.
There's nothing for me to do, and I've done all the shopping and spa dates for the week.
It's Friday and I need some attention.
Jared is out and I can't say where he's gone.
Maybe work, or golf, or something.
Who cares, really?
Anyway, I head out to the poolside and just my luck, the pool boy is there.
The young, dirty, blonde, and heavily tanned boy is standing by the pool scooping out leaves.
I relieve myself of my sheer cover-up and take a seat on the lounge chair.
This boy has been working with us for three months, and I'm yet to see him wear a shirt.
He's always topless with shorts.
I'm not complaining, only explaining.
In the beginning, I never paid him any attention because he was young, 20 to be exact, much
too young for me.
But after revisiting my values and needs, I lowered my standards.
I know it's sad, but you don't know me like that to fucking judge.
Besides, my husband's dick hasn't worked in over a year, and I'm tired of plastic and
strap-ons.
Also, when I'm ovulating, I'm horny as fuck.
And I've happened to be ovulating right now.
My eyes trail the pool boy as he walks to the other end of the pool.
I was fine with ogling his backside, but now he's giving me a front view.
He eyes me, stealing glances every few seconds.
He knows what's up and this is all a game to him.
Well, it's a game to me, so he should think the same.
But when he stares, he stares with passion.
He stares with unending lust.
The kind of lust that can get me tied up and put in a trunk and be driven to the middle
of nowhere if I don't concede to his wishes.
I'm wearing a thong bikini and my legs are propped up on the chair.
Trent can see a sliver of my waxed pussy if he stares long enough.
And I want him to.
Enjoying the sun?
He finally asks.
I don't answer him.
Aside from mystique, I don't like small talk.
It leads nowhere.
Besides, if he can spark up a conversation, he can more than well tell me he wants to
fuck.
I shift my legs so that the left is now over the right.
He continues to sift through the water.
And all I can think about is what those arm muscles can do to me.
Every time this boy moves, the muscles in his sweaty arms and chest flex in a way that
turns me the fuck on.
My husband is out, I say.
And I can't seem to find anyone to help me put on this lotion.
I know, it's the oldest trick in the book, but the bait always works when the fish are
hungry.
Besides, who can refuse me?
I'm 5 feet 6 inches of pure ass, toned legs and an itty bitty waist.
I'm the girl that steals your guy.
I'm the woman who delivers in bed while you're busy leaving it on the steps.
When Trent swishes the butterfly net around in the water, like he's contemplating my
offer, I dangle the SPF from my fingertips.
It's like I'm telling a dog to come get his treat.
He sets the net down and strolls over, grabbing the bottle from my hand.
Why are you like this?
I still don't answer him.
He sighs.
Where do you want it?
I shrug.
Turn around.
He says.
Instead, I sit upright and feign a yawn.
I don't think I want to be out here anymore.
He raises a brow.
I stand, taking his hand in mine.
Come.
The closest place we can fuck uninterrupted is in the laundry room.
Today isn't Wednesday, so the cleaning lady is off.
Trent follows behind me, silent as a lamb.
Whatever he's thinking, it's definitely going to happen.
I close the door after him and lock it.
Take off your pants.
He gazes at me.
What, no kiss?
I don't have time for casualty.
When I came downstairs, it was for one thing and one thing only.
To get off.
He does as I say in the slowest and painstaking way possible.
That too.
I point at his briefs.
He strips off the briefs and stands in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips
and a coy smile.
His penis is so fucking hard, it can pierce metal.
He's young, but he has girth.
He has the meat I want.
Trent is so full of himself.
Sometimes I wonder if he was always like that, or if I had brought it out in him.
He hadn't been like this at first.
He was timid, soft, lacking willpower.
But now, he's all man.
He's the fucking deal.
Get on the washer, I command.
He hops up, propping himself close to the edge.
I make it across the room and kiss him, pressing his hands down onto the washer just so he
doesn't touch me.
Trent loves to caress my face and let his hands wander while he kisses me, but not today.
Today, I call the shots.
He fights me but concedes when I press down on his hands.
I give him my tongue and he takes it, greedily consuming my mouth and jerking his hips.
I reach for his cock and he uses the opportunity to yank my neck towards him.
He floods me with his tongue and wickedly claims every part of my mouth, leaving nothing untouched.
His dick head is so swollen I want to suck it.
I want to put it in my mouth and let it choke me.
I pull away, breaking the kiss and shove his chest back, taking him in my mouth.
Trent's stomach dips as I force him down my throat, feasting, stroking, twisting.
He moans out loud, pressing his palm into my hair and pounding me deeper onto him.
I love it.
I love being his whore, his dirty thing, his bitch.
I choke, burying his entire length in my mouth.
They're spit on his legs, spit on my mouth, spit every fucking wear.
I want to fuck you.
Fuck you now.
He rasps, but he isn't in control.
I am.
I release his dick and step away.
He begins to protest and stops when I start peeling my thong off.
Trent continues to stroke his dick, increasing his pumps as I fling my underwear aside.
Lift me up.
He plants me on the washer and quickly spreads my legs.
He grabs his cock in an attempt to claim me, but I shove him away.
What?
What do you want?
Say it.
Fuck yourself until you come.
He curses under his breath and pumps harder, coaxing his dick, teasing his dick.
I want you to come on my pussy.
Trent's hips buck, sending a pea-sized drip of pre-come to the floor.
I'm ready.
He breathes.
And fucking do it.
He aims it at me and grunts out loud.
I spread for him, swiping my fingers up and down my pussy.
I'm coming.
Then come on me.
Trent's dick bursts onto my pussy, covering it in his hot, creamy mess.
I moan out loud, reaching for his cock and guiding it up and around my flesh, circling
my clit.
Trent moans.
Now lick me.
He buries his head between my legs, capturing my clit in his mouth.
His tongue is hot, fast, unnervingly flexible.
If this boy puts his tongue inside my pussy again, I'll…
I scream.
Trent grips my thighs, bringing me closer on top of his tongue.
I convulse, scratching at the sides of the machine.
My nerves are an overdrive.
I come.
I come so hard my body is stiff as a fucking board.
I can't even think.
I can't even breathe right.
I stay in one place until I can gather myself.
Until my soul re-enters my body.
Trent is still on me.
This fucker is still lapping at my pussy like a motherfucking creep.
I shove him off and giddily slide off the washer.
He's watching me, monitoring my every move.
And though he's rock hard as a fucking post again, I don't care.
I don't care about his needs or what he now wants.
I've got what I wanted.
I've got my happy ending.
I scrape my thong off the floor and slide it back on.
Now, I need a bath.
Retrieving $800 bills from the back of the dryer, I slap it onto his chest, unlock the
door and walk out.
Thank you for listening to Kamaya's Closet.
Don't forget, these podcasts are first available on my Patreon.
So if you don't like to wait and also want to support me, hit me up on my page, Kimaya
Sloan.
That's K-I-M-A-Y-A-S-L-O-A-N-E.
Peace out, Closet Raiders.