Benefits Day Bonanza

Benefits day at the post office was its own special kind of chaos. The queue snaked out the door, filled with the usual suspects—pensioners clutching bus passes, young mums with pushchairs, and lads who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

I was one of the lads.

She was one of the mums.

Chantelle had the look of a woman who'd seen some shit and come out the other side with her sense of humor intact. Late thirties, maybe forty, with bleached hair showing dark roots, a face full of makeup that had been applied with dedication if not precision, and a body that her leopard-print leggings and oversized "PINK" hoodie couldn't disguise.

Thick. Proper thick. The kind of thick that made men's heads turn even if they pretended otherwise.

"Fucking queue, innit," she said to no one in particular, then caught my eye. "Swear it gets worse every fortnight."

"Tell me about it," I agreed. "Been here twenty minutes already."

She looked me up and down, not bothering to hide it. "Ain't seen you round the estate before."

"Just moved in. Tower C, fourteenth floor."

"No way! I'm Tower C, twelfth. We're practically neighbors." She stuck out a hand, nails done in French tips with little diamantés. "Chantelle. Channy to me mates."

"Ryan."

Her handshake was firm, warm. She held on a beat too long.

The queue shuffled forward. A baby started screaming somewhere behind us. Chantelle rolled her eyes.

"God, I remember them days. Three kids, I've got. Two at school, one at the nan's today. Finally got five minutes to myself."

"And you're spending it here?"

She laughed, a big, genuine sound. "Gotta get paid, ain't I? Then I'm going home, opening a bottle of wine, and watching Loose Women in me pants. Living the dream."

The image of her in just her pants lodged itself in my brain and wouldn't shift.

We talked through the queue, then collected our money side by side, then somehow ended up walking back to the tower together. She was easy to talk to—no pretense, no bullshit. Just straight-up Chantelle, telling me about her ex who was "a complete waste of oxygen," her kids who were "little shits but I love 'em," and her philosophy on life: "Get yours while you can, darling, 'cause no one's gonna give it to you."

At the entrance to Tower C, she paused.

"Fancy a brew? Got some Hobnobs and everything. Proper hospitality, me."

I should have said no. She was clearly older. Clearly a mum. Clearly out of my league in ways that had nothing to do with looks.

"Yeah, alright then."

Her flat was chaos—toys everywhere, laundry on the radiators, a massive TV dominating one wall with Love Island paused mid-scene. But it was clean chaos, lived-in chaos. Homely.

"Ignore the mess," she said, pushing a stuffed unicorn off the sofa. "Sit. I'll put the kettle on."

I watched her move around the kitchen, all confident curves and casual grace. The hoodie rode up when she reached for the mugs, revealing a sliver of soft belly and the top of a tattoo.

"See something you like?" she asked without turning around.

"Maybe."

She brought the tea over, settled onto the sofa next to me. Close. Her thigh touching mine.

"Look," she said, wrapping her hands around her mug, "I ain't gonna pretend I invited you up just for tea. Three years since I got any, and you're fit as fuck. So if you're not interested, finish your brew and go. No hard feelings. But if you are..."

She let the sentence hang.

I put my tea down.

"I'm interested."

Her smile was wicked. "Thank fuck for that."

She kissed me first—tea-warm lips, tongue tasting of sugar and something deeper. Her hands went straight for my hoodie, pulling it over my head with an efficiency that spoke of experience.

"Bedroom," she said between kisses. "The kids' stuff is everywhere in here."

She led me down a short hallway to her room—more leopard print, fairy lights around the headboard, a king-size bed that took up most of the space. She pushed me onto it and stood back, hands on hips.

"Right then. Let's see what we're working with."

She stripped without ceremony—the hoodie first, revealing a black bra struggling to contain her generous tits. Then the leggings, rolling them down over hips that flared wide, over thighs that were soft and welcoming.

"Your turn, darling. Fair's fair."

I was naked in seconds, my enthusiasm obvious.

"Fucking hell," she breathed, eyes widening. "Christmas come early."

She climbed onto the bed, onto me, straddling my hips. Her weight was warm and substantial and exactly right. She reached back, unhooked her bra, and let her tits fall free—heavy, with dark nipples and a few stretch marks that only made them more real.

"Touch them," she commanded. "Go on."

I filled my hands with her, squeezing, thumbing her nipples until she squirmed. She ground down against me, finding her rhythm, her head falling back.

"Shit, that's good. Forgot what this felt like."

She lifted up, reached down, guided me into her. The moan she made when she sank down was pure satisfaction—a woman getting exactly what she needed.

"Fuck, you're big. Filling me right up."

She rode me like she had something to prove, all rolling hips and bouncing tits and breathless profanity. I gripped her arse—soft, yielding, perfect handfuls—and thrust up to meet her.

"Yeah, like that, don't stop—"

She leaned down, her tits in my face, and I took a nipple in my mouth while she rode faster. Her moans were getting louder, less controlled.

"Close—fuck—right there—"

I slid a hand between us, found her clit, and she went off like a firework. Her whole body shook, clenching around me so tight I nearly lost it. She collapsed forward, panting.

"Your turn," she breathed. "How do you want me?"

"On your knees."

She grinned. "I like a man who knows what he wants."

She presented herself—that magnificent arse in the air, looking back over her shoulder with an expression of pure filthy anticipation. I grabbed her hips and drove in hard.

"Oh fuck YES—"

The headboard hit the wall with every thrust. Somewhere in the building, someone was probably complaining. Neither of us cared.

"Harder—come on—give it to me proper—"

I gave her everything, and when I finally came, she reached back, grabbed my arse, and held me deep.

"Fill me up. Fucking do it."

I did.

After, we lay tangled in her leopard-print sheets, sharing a cigarette and talking about nothing.

"Same time next benefits day?" she asked.

"I'll bring the Hobnobs."

She laughed, patted my cheek. "Good lad. Now fuck off before my mum brings the kids back."

I left with her number in my phone and the taste of her on my lips.

Best benefits day ever.