The Pool Boy | NEON LIT

Dad's idea, not mine.

"You need a summer job," he said. "And I need someone to maintain the pool. Win-win."

What he meant was: I need you to spend time with Diane, my new wife, so you stop acting like she doesn't exist.

So here I am. Nineteen years old, home from my first year of college, skimming leaves from a pool I used to swim in as a kid while my stepmother watches from a lounge chair.

She's wearing a red bikini.

That's the problem. That's been the problem since day one.

Diane is forty-five, dirty blonde, and built like a pinup from another era. Not thin—God, not thin—but curved. Wide hips that strain against the bikini bottoms. A soft, round stomach that she doesn't try to hide. Thick thighs that spread across the lounge chair. And breasts—breasts that the tiny red triangles can barely contain, spilling out the sides, threatening to escape with every breath.

She's been married to my father for three months. She's been torturing me for all of them.

"You missed a spot," she calls out, not looking up from her magazine.

I look at the water. It's pristine.

"Where?"

"Near the deep end." She lowers her sunglasses, peers at me over the rims. "You might need to get in."

It's ninety-six degrees. I'm already shirtless, already sweating, already half-hard from watching her shift on that chair for the last hour. Getting in the water would help with two of those problems.

"Fine."

I set down the skimmer and dive in.

The cold hits me like a reset button. I surface, push my hair back, and look toward her chair—

She's standing at the edge of the pool.

"Changed my mind," she says. "I'm coming in too."

She walks down the steps, slowly, letting the water climb her body inch by inch. It reaches her thighs. Her hips. That soft belly. And then she's in up to her chest, and she's moving toward me, and the pool suddenly feels very, very small.

"It's nice, isn't it?" She stops a foot away. The water laps at her cleavage. "The cold."

"Yeah."

"Cools you down." She drifts closer. Now it's inches. "I've noticed you running hot lately."

"It's summer."

"That's not what I mean." Her hand finds my chest underwater. Rests there. "I see the way you look at me, Tyler. When I'm sunbathing. When I bend over to get something from the fridge. When I walk past your room in my robe."

"Diane—"

"I'm not mad." Her hand slides down. Over my stomach. Toward my waistband. "I'm flattered. And I'm..." She pauses, fingers toying with the drawstring of my trunks. "...curious."

I should stop this. Should swim away, get out, tell my father—

Her hand wraps around my cock.

"Oh." Her eyes widen. "Oh, you are big."

"We can't—Dad—"

"Your father plays golf every Saturday until six. It's noon." She strokes me slowly underwater, her grip firm and knowing. "We have all the time in the world."

She pulls me to the shallow end where she can stand, where the water only reaches her waist. She turns, bends over the pool edge, and looks back at me.

"I haven't been fucked in four months," she says. "Your father has... performance issues. He doesn't like to talk about it." She reaches back, hooks her bikini bottoms to the side. "I'm tired of not talking about it."

I can see her. All of her. Wet and pink and waiting.

"Diane, if he finds out—"

"He won't." She arches her back. "Now stop being a good boy and fuck me."

I stop being a good boy.

I push my trunks down, step forward, and thrust into her in one motion.

She moans—loud, filthy, echoing off the pool house. Her cunt is hot, even in the cold water, and tight around me. I grab her hips—those wide, soft hips I've been staring at all summer—and start to move.

"God, yes." She pushes back against me, meeting each thrust. "Harder. I won't break."

I go harder. The water splashes around us. Her ass ripples with every impact, jiggling, hypnotic. I grab a handful of it—soft and full, more than I can hold—and she moans louder.

"Spank me," she gasps. "Your father never—just do it—"

I spank her. Hard. The crack echoes across the backyard, and she cries out—pleasure, not pain—and her cunt clenches around me.

"Again."

I spank her again. And again. Her ass turns pink, then red, and she's pushing back harder, grinding on my cock, her moans turning into something desperate.

"I'm close," she pants. "Don't stop—don't you dare stop—"

I don't stop. I fuck her through her orgasm, feel her shake and clench and scream my name into the hot summer air. Then I pull out, flip her around, lift her onto the pool edge.

"I want to see you," I tell her.

She spreads her legs. Reaches down, unties her bikini top, lets those magnificent breasts fall free. They're heavy and round, nipples tight, water droplets running down the curves.

"Then see me."

I push back into her.

This angle is better—I can watch her face, watch her tits bounce with every thrust, watch her belly ripple and her thighs shake. She wraps her legs around me, pulls me deeper, and I feel like I'm being consumed.

"Inside," she says. "I want it inside."

"Are you—"

"I'm on the pill. I'm ready. Give it to me."

I give it to her. I bury myself to the hilt and let go, and she comes again as I fill her, her whole body shaking, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

Afterward, we float in the shallow end, her back against my chest, both of us catching our breath.

"Same time next Saturday?" she asks.

"And the Saturday after that?"

She laughs, low and satisfied. "Every Saturday. As long as your father keeps playing golf."

"What if he stops?"

She turns in my arms. Kisses me. Her breasts press against my chest, soft and warm.

"Then we'll find another excuse. Pool maintenance. Grocery runs. Anything." She pulls back, looks at me seriously. "I'm not giving this up, Tyler. I'm not going back to waiting for a man who can't deliver."

I think about my father. About betrayal. About consequences.

Then I think about her body, her hunger, her absolute lack of shame.

"Neither am I," I say.

She smiles and reaches underwater.

We don't make it out of the pool for another hour.