The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the quiet suburban street as Brad opened the front door, grinning wide. “Dirk, you son of a bitch!”
Dirk stepped onto the porch with a duffel slung over one shoulder, towering over Brad by a couple inches. He looked just as Brad remembered—maybe even better. Broader. Tighter. Confident as ever.
“Still got that soft handshake, huh?” Dirk grinned, pulling Brad into a rough hug that ended with a few hard slaps to the back.
Carrie came to the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Hi there,” she said with a warm smile. “You must be Dirk.”
Dirk turned to her, his smile widening as his eyes swept her casually. “And you must be the famous Carrie. Brad undersold you, if you ask me.”
Carrie laughed, a little flustered. “Welcome. Come on in.”
As Dirk crossed the threshold, his presence seemed to shift the air—louder, more physical than Brad, even without trying. He dropped his bag by the stairs and looked around. “Nice place. Lot quieter than the precinct locker room.”
Brad chuckled. “Yeah, well, the loudest thing here is the kids. Speaking of which—”
“Don’t worry,” Carrie said, “I told them to stay in the playroom while Uncle Dirk settles in.”
Dirk smirked at the title. “Uncle Dirk. Makes me sound responsible.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Brad joked, nudging him.
Carrie laughed, but her gaze lingered a beat too long on Dirk’s arms as he reached for his duffel bag.
“I set up the guest room for you,” she said. “Fresh sheets, plenty of towels. You’ll be sharing the hall bath with the kids, but…”
“I’ll survive,” Dirk said. “Thanks for letting me crash here. I owe you both.”
Brad clapped him on the shoulder. “You don’t owe me a damn thing. You saved my life once, remember?”
Dirk’s grin faded, just slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember.”
There was a pause—brief, loaded. Carrie looked between them, sensing something unspoken. She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “Dinner’s in an hour. You’ve got time to shower if you want.”
Dirk nodded, his eyes flicking to her again. “Might take you up on that.”
He headed toward the stairs, and Carrie followed him with her eyes, watching the slow, confident way he moved. Brad, oblivious, turned back toward the living room.
Carrie hesitated at the base of the stairs before calling up, “Let me know if you need anything!”
Dirk’s voice floated down, rich and amused: “I will.”
The dining table was crowded with plates: roasted chicken, potatoes, green beans, rolls. Carrie always cooked a little too much, but tonight, with company, it felt justified.
Dirk sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders filling the space, laughing easily at the kids’ stories about school and a teacher with a squeaky voice.
“So then the hamster got out,” Brad’s eight-year-old son said, eyes wide.
Dirk leaned in, feigning seriousness. “And what’d you do? Go full tactical?”
The boy nodded solemnly. “I used the laundry basket.”
“Smart,” Dirk said. “Containment first. I like it.”
Carrie watched the exchange from across the table. It was rare to see someone like Dirk—so physically imposing—be so good with kids. It didn’t match the image she had of Brad’s gritty, street-hardened old partner. And yet… it suited him.
“You’re good with them,” she said as she topped off Dirk’s water.
He looked up at her with a small smile. “I like kids. Didn’t have any of my own. Never stuck around long enough, I guess.”
Brad chuckled. “You never stuck around anywhere.”
Carrie noticed the subtle edge in Brad’s voice—half joke, half truth.
“Life moves,” Dirk replied, nonchalant. “Sometimes it’s easier to chase the next thing than face what you left behind.”
Their son interrupted, tugging on Brad’s sleeve. “Can we go watch something before bed?”
“Go ahead,” Brad said. “One episode. Upstairs TV.”
The kids scrambled out, leaving their plates half-finished. Carrie rose and started gathering dishes, but Dirk was already helping, stacking plates effortlessly.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, brushing past him.
“I don’t mind,” he replied, his arm brushing hers lightly. “Besides, I never could sit still after a good meal.”
He followed her to the kitchen, setting dishes beside the sink. When she turned, she found him standing closer than expected. Her breath hitched.
“Wine?” she asked.
“Please.”
Back at the table, Brad had already uncorked a bottle and poured three glasses. Dessert, Carrie’s famous cherry crumble, sat in the center of the table.
They all sat again, more relaxed now, the room dimmer, voices quieter.
Brad took a sip and sighed. “So how’s it feel being back in town after all these years?”
Dirk swirled his glass. “Strange. Familiar. Makes you remember things you thought you’d buried.”
Carrie tilted her head. “Like what?”
Dirk glanced at Brad, who gave a tired smile. “The job. The old precinct. Some of the cases we worked.”
Carrie leaned in slightly, curious. “Brad’s never told me much. He always says the job was different back then.”
Dirk snorted softly. “That’s putting it mildly. We were kids. Thrown into the shit.”
Brad shifted uncomfortably. “We worked vice. Mostly the prostitution beat. Lotta stings. Undercover stuff.”
Carrie blinked. “You were undercover too? Both of you?”
Dirk nodded. “A few times, yeah. Dangerous work. Hard to keep your head on straight.”
Brad glanced at him. “Dirk saved my ass once. We were doing a motel sting. My cover nearly got blown. He spotted it just in time—talked me out of a body bag.”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
Dirk downplayed it with a shrug. “It was instinct. Couldn’t let my guy go out like that.”
Brad raised his glass. “I owe him everything.”
Carrie looked at Dirk with a new expression—soft, intrigued, a little overwhelmed. “That’s… incredible. Why haven’t I heard this story before?”
Brad shifted in his seat. “Because not everything about that time was easy.”
The air thickened. Dirk swirled his wine and said, “There was fallout. After that bust, some people questioned my judgment.”
Brad looked away.
Carrie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Dirk met her eyes, calm. “One of the girls we arrested claimed I had a relationship with her. Said I crossed a line. Internal Affairs did their dance. Nothing stuck, but…”
“But people talk,” Brad finished quietly.
Carrie sat back, surprised. “Did you?”
“No,” Dirk said evenly. “Not in the way they said. But I got too close. She was human. Scared. I treated her like a person. That was enough to make waves.”
“Truth is,” Brad added, “they pushed him out. Transferred to another district to avoid bad press.”
Dirk gave a wry smile. “New city. New start. Not my first. Won’t be my last.”
Carrie stared into her wine glass, then looked up. “I’m sorry that happened.”
Dirk shrugged. “Cost of caring too much, I guess.”
Their eyes locked. The moment lingered.
Upstairs, a faint thud signaled the kids had made it to bed.
Brad stood. “I’m gonna check on them. Back in a sec.”
He left, his footsteps fading up the stairs.
Dirk and Carrie sat in silence for a beat.
“He doesn’t talk about any of this,” she said softly.
“I know.”
“You really saved him?”
Dirk leaned forward slightly. “I’d do it again.”
He held her gaze, and this time, she didn’t look away.
The house was quiet. The kids were asleep, and Brad had dozed off on the couch in front of the late sports recap.
Carrie turned off the TV and nudged him. “Come to bed.”
He mumbled something and followed her up the stairs, rubbing his eyes.
As she passed the guest room, she noticed the door wasn’t completely shut, just slightly ajar. A sliver of warm light cut across the hallway. She paused.
Inside, Dirk stood with his back to the door, shirtless, facing away. His jeans rode low on his hips, and his wide, tattooed back flexed as he leaned over to adjust something in his duffel bag. The ink swirled across his shoulders, disappearing down beneath the waistband of his jeans. His torso was lean and powerful, covered in a faint dusting of dark hair that narrowed to a trail along his abs.
Carrie’s breath caught. She knew she should move, but her feet didn’t obey. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.
Dirk stood up straight and turned halfway toward the door, and for a second, she thought he might have seen her. But he didn’t say anything. He just ran a hand through his hair and let out a quiet sigh before switching off the light.
Carrie scurried the rest of the way down the hall, heart pounding.
⸻
Later That Night
In bed, Carrie rolled over toward Brad, slid a hand across his chest. He stirred, surprised by her sudden assertiveness.
“Mmm. What’s this about?” he murmured, half-awake.
She kissed him softly and climbed on top of him.
Brad responded, but sluggishly. She tried to guide the rhythm, but he finished too quickly, his breath warm and apologetic in her ear.
“Sorry, babe… It’s just been a long day.”
Carrie rolled off him wordlessly and turned away.
Brad didn’t notice. Within minutes, he was softly snoring.
Carrie stared into the darkness, her thighs still aching.
⸻
The next morning, Carrie was up early, making pancakes. The kids bickered in the living room. Brad had already left for his shift.
Dirk entered the kitchen in a fitted T-shirt and jeans, damp hair curling slightly at the ends. He smelled like clean soap and something musky.
“Smells amazing,” he said, stepping up behind her.
Carrie didn’t turn around. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Oh, I’m starving,” he replied—his tone low, suggestive, whether he meant it to be or not.
She glanced back at him as he leaned on the counter, watching her pour batter.
“You sleep okay?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Better than I expected.” He paused. “Though the hallway gets pretty drafty late at night.”
Her heart skipped.
One of the kids ran in, breaking the moment.
Dirk crouched down, wrestling playfully with Brad’s youngest, who squealed in delight.
Carrie’s gaze drifted to his forearms, the way his shirt clung to his chest. She turned back to the stove before her thoughts got out of hand.
⸻
Dirk left with a travel mug of coffee and a folder under his arm. “Wish me luck. Eight hours of PowerPoint hell.”
“Drive safe,” Carrie called from the doorway. “And try to behave.”
He winked. “No promises.”
She watched him walk to his car, shoulders squared. When he looked back once before getting in, she quickly closed the door.
On the way to school, the kids chattered in the backseat. Carrie barely heard them. Her mind was stuck on Dirk’s shoulders, his bare back, the way he’d looked at her over pancakes.
She turned into the wrong drop-off lane, causing a momentary backup.
“Mom!” her oldest said. “That’s for the buses!”
“Shi—uh, sorry,” she muttered, reversing awkwardly.
After the kids were finally inside, Carrie sat in the parked car for a moment, hands gripping the wheel. Her body hummed with frustration. Guilt. Curiosity.
Back home, Carrie wandered the house aimlessly for a while, wiping down an already clean countertop, standing at the laundry room doorway before walking away. Nothing needed doing—but her nerves itched for release.
She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the water, watching the steam curl up toward the ceiling. The sound filled the room, a steady roar that drowned out her thoughts.
She undressed slowly, peeling her clothes off piece by piece, aware of the cool air on her skin. She caught her reflection in the mirror—breasts soft and full, hips a little wider since the kids, but she still had curves. And Dirk had noticed them. She could feel it.
She slipped into the tub and lay back, closing her eyes as the warmth crept over her limbs. Her hand glided down her thigh, fingers trailing through the water before finding her breast. She cupped it, thumb brushing across her nipple until it stiffened. Her other hand joined in, massaging both breasts, squeezing gently, teasing herself.
A soft sigh escaped her lips.
Her fingers drifted lower, across her stomach, then between her thighs. She was already wet, not just from the bath. Her fingers moved slowly, grazing her folds, circling her clit with delicate pressure. She bit her lip.
Her hips began to rock.
The image of Dirk rose in her mind—standing shirtless in the guest room, muscles flexing, tattoos shifting across his back. She imagined him stepping into the tub behind her, his large hands on her waist, his lips brushing her ear before moving lower…
She moaned quietly.
Shifting slightly, Carrie scooted her body down the tub until the thick stream from the spout landed directly on her clit. The heat and pressure made her gasp. She spread her legs wider, her knees drawn up, feet braced, her body arched to hold that perfect angle. Her back pressed against the slope of the tub, her head resting on the cool porcelain.
She imagined his tongue now—strong, steady, relentless.
Her hands roamed her body—one rubbing her breasts, pinching her nipples, the other clutching her thigh as the water beat down mercilessly. Her moans quickened, breath coming fast. She let her mouth fall open, eyes squeezed shut.
“Oh God…”
The orgasm hit her hard, deep and sudden, pulsing through her belly and into her limbs. Her legs shook. Her toes curled. She didn’t try to stifle the cry this time.
She lay there after, breathing in the heavy air, the water still running, the ache not quite gone. Finally, she reached up and turned the spout off.
The room fell silent but for the faint echo of her heartbeat in her ears.
She didn’t feel shame.
In fact, she was hungry for more!
Carrie lay on her bed in a towel, scrolling her phone as her still-damp hair dripped onto the pillow. Her body was spent, but her mind hummed with restless energy.
She opened a chat with her closest friend, Lauren, who knew her better than anyone.
CARRIE:
Brad’s old cop friend is staying with us.
LAUREN:
Ooh. The one he hasn’t seen in forever? The hero guy?
CARRIE:
That’s the one. He’s… intense. Tall. Built like a Greek statue. Covered in tattoos.
LAUREN:
You slut. I want pictures.
CARRIE:
He walks around like he owns the house. Just stands there dripping confidence. You should’ve seen him at breakfast…
LAUREN:
Carrie.
CARRIE:
I caught myself watching him last night. Shirtless. Through the door. I don’t think he saw me.
LAUREN:
But you wanted him to.
CARRIE:
…
LAUREN:
Girl, you’re playing with fire. And you’re loving it.
Carrie stared at her screen for a moment before locking it and tossing the phone onto the nightstand. She got dressed slowly, choosing a sundress that hit just above the knee—simple, soft, and just suggestive enough.
⸻
Dinner was takeout—Carrie didn’t trust herself around the stove again.
Brad had brought home Thai food, and they all sat at the dining table, chopsticks in hand, wine glasses filled again. The kids had already eaten and were playing in the den.
“So,” Dirk said, lifting a forkful of noodles with casual charm, “tell me—how’d you two meet? I never got that story.”
Brad grinned. “Blind date. Set up by a dispatcher, believe it or not.”
Carrie smiled fondly. “He showed up in a tucked-in polo and khakis.”
“And you thought, this is the man for me?” Dirk teased, eyes on her.
“He was sweet,” she said. “Still is.”
Dirk nodded, his voice low. “Sweet can be good. Safe. Reliable.”
Carrie raised an eyebrow. “And you? What do women get with you?”
He tilted his head, holding her gaze. “Trouble.”
Brad chuckled, not noticing the look exchanged. “Still the same Dirk,” he said, shaking his head. “Always had that rogue charm.”
Dirk smiled faintly. “Guess I never learned how to turn it off.”
He reached for the wine bottle, refilled Carrie’s glass without asking. His fingers brushed hers briefly as he passed it back. She didn’t pull away.
Brad launched into a story from the old days—something about a botched bust and a suspect with a machete—but Carrie barely heard him. She watched Dirk, the way his eyes rarely left hers when Brad wasn’t looking.
When Brad excused himself to help the kids get into pajamas, Dirk leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “You always dress like that for dinner?” he asked softly.
Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
He smiled. “Like you know someone’s watching.”
Her breath caught.
“You should be careful,” she said.
Dirk leaned forward slightly, voice low and deliberate. “I am. That’s the problem.”
They both turned as Brad returned, wiping something off his shirt.
Dirk stood up, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got good taste, man. Don’t know how you pulled it off.”
Brad laughed. “Neither do I.”
Carrie smiled tightly, but her heart beat louder than it should’ve.
Carrie lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her husband’s soft snoring a steady rhythm beside her. The ceiling fan whirred above, pushing warm air across her skin, but the heat in her body had nothing to do with the temperature.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Dirk—his voice, the way he looked at her, the faint trace of cologne he wore that still lingered in the hallway. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, aching for relief.
Giving in to the excuse of restlessness, she slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom. As she sat on the toilet, she noticed the faint glow of light from under Dirk’s door.
He was still awake.
She wiped, flushed, and paused by the mirror. Her face was flushed. Her nipples were visible through her thin sleep tank. Back in the bedroom, she slipped into a pink satin half-robe, tying it loosely. She left her white cotton panties on underneath but nothing else.
She didn’t think. She just moved.
The hallway was dim. Brad’s snoring followed her like a warning, but also a strange permission. Quietly, she padded to Dirk’s door and tapped twice, barely audible.
“Yeah?” his voice rumbled from inside.
“It’s Carrie,” she whispered. “Just… checking on you.”
“Come in.”
She cracked the door open and peeked her head in. Dirk was reclining in bed, shirtless, sheets pulled low over his hips. His broad chest was bare, glistening slightly in the soft lamplight, and the sheet’s top hem just barely covered his groin. A faint trail of pubic hair was visible above it. Her eyes lingered.
“So,” Dirk said, smirking as he noticed, “do all your guest check-ins come after midnight? Wearing that?”
Carrie blushed, pulling her robe together more. “Just wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“Oh, I need plenty,” he answered. “Being single and all… I don’t get as much…” he looked her up and down. “…female companionship as I’d like.”
Their eyes locked, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She glanced once down the hallway—Brad’s snoring echoed softly. Without a word, she stepped inside and clicked the door shut behind her. ”My guess is, even though you are married, you don’t get as much male companionship as you’d like.”
”I…I don’t know what you’re…” her voice trailed off.
Dirk shifted, patting the bed beside him.
She approached slowly, heart thudding, and sat at the edge, keeping her robe closed across her lap. “You look beautiful in that,” he said, voice rough. “Soft. Sexy.”
She swallowed, her hand unconsciously smoothing the fabric over her thighs.
He leaned in and stroked her leg through the satin, fingers trailing higher with each pass. When his hand slid beneath the robe, she gasped—but didn’t stop him.
Then, he took her hand and gently placed it over the bulge beneath the sheet. She exhaled, startled by the heat, the size. Slowly, her fingers began to explore, lightly stroking through the fabric.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”
Her hand slipped beneath the sheet. When she wrapped her fingers around him, she gasped quietly. He was thick, hard, pulsing in her hand.
As she stroked him, his lips found her neck, then her collarbone. She closed her eyes as he untied her robe and parted it. Her breasts spilled free, and he groaned softly before leaning down and drawing one nipple into his mouth.
Carrie whimpered as he devoured her, tongue circling, sucking, nipping gently. He moved lower, kissing her belly, her hips. He nudged her thighs apart and touched the crotch of her white cotton panties, now damp and clinging.
“Mmm,” he said, his voice dark. “You’re soaked.”
He kissed her over the fabric, his breath hot, his tongue teasing through the cotton.
She trembled, her fingers in his hair.
Dirk peeled the panties down slowly, exposing her naked pussy. He hooked her knees over his shoulders and buried his face between her thighs, tongue working with slow, sinful expertise. A finger joined his mouth, then two, curling inside her as he sucked and licked her clit.
She moaned softly, back arching.
“God… yes…”
Brad’s snores echoed faintly down the hallway, growing louder in the silence between her gasps.
She let go. She let everything go.
The orgasm rose like a wave, crashing down and stealing her breath. She bit her fist to stifle the cry, her whole body shaking.
Dirk kissed his way back up, and she pulled him close, lips finding his. She tasted herself on his mouth. Her hand moved downward again.
“Suck me,” he hissed.
She slid beneath the sheet and took him into her mouth, her tongue curling along his shaft as he groaned and fisted the sheets.
“I wanted you,” he murmured through gritted teeth, “from the moment you opened that front door.”
She stopped, eyes locked with his, the confession hanging between them.
Then, she climbed up and straddled him.
She guided him inside her, slowly, feeling every thick inch stretch and fill her. She leaned forward, hands on his chest, riding him with measured, aching pleasure.
The bed creaked softly. His hands gripped her hips. Her hair fell around her face.
She came again—harder this time—whimpering as her body trembled above his.
Dirk sat up, wrapping his arms around her, fucking her deeper from below.
“Come for me, baby,” he growled. “I’ll bet it’s been a long time since you did.”
She couldn’t stop her orgasm. She didn’t want to. And as her walls clenched around him, he followed, groaning into her neck as he filled her with his release.
They collapsed together, breathless and sticky with sweat.
After a moment, she rolled off him, gasping slightly. She could feel his warm seed oozing out, trickling down her thigh.
“Shit,” she murmured, sitting up.
Dirk grabbed a box of tissues and passed it to her. She pressed a few to her aching pussy, wiping carefully, still throbbing. ”Is that going to be a problem?” he asked quietly, indicating the ooze between her legs. Slightly embarrassed, she shook her head.
“Hysterectomy. Last year,” she explained without any additional details. Dirk nodded understandingly.
“Can I keep these?” he asked, nodding toward her panties on the floor.
She laughed softly, not sure if he was serious. “I guess… I have others.”
He grinned. “That’s a yes.”
He reached down and picked them up, then brought them to his nose and inhaled the musky dampness, smiling as he tossed them into his open duffel bag.
She stood, retied her robe, and leaned in to kiss him once more.
As she opened the door, Brad’s snoring continued, steady, unaware
Carrie crept back into her room, slipped into bed, and stared at the ceiling once more. Only this time, her lips curled into a secret smile.
She drifted to sleep, Dirk’s taste still on her tongue.
She pulled the covers over herself and lay on her back, heart still racing, thighs still damp despite the tissues. Brad snored beside her, unaware, untouched.
Her body tingled with aftershocks—her nipples still tender from Dirk’s mouth, her pussy swollen and warm, pulsing softly with the memory of his tongue, his cock, his release inside her.
She let her hand drift to her lower belly, cupping the spot where she’d felt him deepest, the place where her cries had started.
There was guilt there. A flicker. A shadow. She had stepped over a line that could never be uncrossed.
But the guilt didn’t stick.
It couldn’t compete with the glow still warming her from the inside out. The sense of being wanted, seen, consumed by someone powerful and unapologetic.
Carrie closed her eyes and let the smile return.
And in that moment, she didn’t regret anything.
Not the robe. Not the knock. Not the way she’d moaned his name into the crook of his neck while her husband lay just a few doors away.
She deserved that.
She’d needed it.
As her thoughts quieted and her muscles softened, she drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep—her body sated, her heart untethered, and the faint scent of Dirk still on her skin.
The Morning After
Carrie stood at the kitchen counter, pouring orange juice, her face flushed from the steam of the stove—and the heat still simmering between her legs. She could feel Dirk’s eyes on her.
He sat at the table across from Brad, wearing a fitted black T-shirt that did little to conceal the power in his arms. But it was the way he looked at her—unchanged from last night—that sent little shocks through her system.
Brad munched on toast, flipping through a message on his phone, blissfully unaware of the current running under the table.
“Hell of a breakfast, babe,” Brad said. “You’re spoiling us.”
“She spoils me,” Dirk added, his voice lower, eyes never leaving hers.
Brad laughed. “Careful. He’ll never leave.”
Dirk smiled. “Funny you say that…”
Brad looked up. “Oh?”
Dirk shrugged, stretching back in his chair casually. “Turns out the conference actually wrapped up yesterday. But I figured I’d stay the extra day. Catch my breath. Head back tomorrow.”
Brad didn’t even blink. “Good call. You’ve got a spot here anytime.”
He stood, draining the last of his coffee. “Wish I could hang, but duty calls. You two behave yourselves.”
Dirk grinned. “No promises.”
Brad pointed a finger as he grabbed his keys. “I mean it—don’t break my grill or corrupt my wife.”
Carrie smiled sweetly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
The front door closed behind Brad with a soft click. Silence fell.
Dirk looked over at her with a wicked grin. “So… what’s your schedule today?”
She set down her mug slowly, her voice smooth. “Just need to drop the kids off at school. Pick them up at three.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’ve got a lot of… free time. Once I get the kids to school, I mean.”
Dirk’s smile deepened. “I think I might have something to help fill your day. Hurry back and I’ll show you.”
Without skipping a beat or breaking eye contact with Dirk, Carrie yelled, “Kids! Let’s get in the car!” Dirk smiled. She wanted more of what he had to offer. And he beamed with pride. Today was going to be fun, he thought to himself as they walked out the door.
⸻
The drive to school was a blur. Carrie barely heard the kids as her thoughts spun with possibilities—positions she’d never tried, fantasies she’d only whispered to herself, moments of wildness she thought had passed her by.
She kissed them both on the forehead at drop-off and watched them disappear into the building.
Then she drove home quickly, barely able to sit still.
⸻
She walked through the front door, purse on her arm, and stopped in her tracks.
Dirk was stretched out on the living room sofa in nothing but sweatpants, his muscular chest bare, remote in hand, watching highlights on the sports channel. He looked up slowly, that same heat in his eyes.
Carrie didn’t hesitate. Her purse slid off her shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.
She crossed the room in a few quick strides, climbed into his lap, and kissed him hard.
Dirk caught her, groaning into her mouth, hands gripping her ass as she ground against him.
“Upstairs,” she panted between kisses. “Now.”
They stripped each other on the way to the master bathroom—her blouse tossed to the hallway floor, his sweatpants dropped by the doorway.
They tumbled into the shower, laughing breathlessly as she reached for the handle and turned the water on, soaking them both mid-kiss.
Their bodies pressed together under the stream, slick with heat and desire.
Carrie lathered her hands with body wash and began soaping his chest, his arms, his abs. He did the same to her, lingering at her breasts, watching the soap slide over her nipples.
He kissed her again, deeply, before turning her around and bending her forward, hands braced against the tile.
His hands gripped her ass as he lowered himself, spreading her cheeks and burying his tongue between her folds.
“Oh my God…” she gasped, head falling forward.
“I love this fucking pussy,” he growled. “I need it!”
His tongue was merciless, flicking and curling inside her while his fingers massaged her clit. She trembled, legs threatening to give out.
When she turned, breathless, she dropped to her knees, taking his cock into her mouth, stroking with both hands, twisting, tasting, loving the way he moaned her name.
He pulled her up, turned her again, and slid into her from behind—deep and strong, water cascading down their bodies.
She came quickly, crying out as her body clenched around him. He groaned, thrusting harder.
Afterward, she knelt again, licking and stroking him until he erupted in thick bursts—his cum splashing onto her chin, her breasts, her lips.
The water ran over her skin, rinsing away the evidence of their lust, but not the memory.
She stood, kissed him slowly, deeply, tasting him and herself.
They returned to the bedroom wrapped in towels, laughing softly as they dripped onto the carpet. Carrie pulled Dirk onto the bed before he had a chance to dry off. She was insatiable—and he didn’t seem to mind.
He took her again, this time slow and deep, lying back as she rode him. Her fingers dug into his chest, her hips rolling, her moans growing louder with each stroke.
They changed positions effortlessly—her legs over his shoulders, then on her side, then folded in half as he pounded her deeply, bringing her to a second and third climax.
He never lost rhythm.
When she collapsed against the pillows, slick and trembling, she smiled through her exhaustion. “You’re a machine.”
Dirk smirked. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he replied with a cocky tone.
His promise excited her even further, despite having just cum three times. This was her chance to let a warm-blooded, sexy, real man fulfill her every dark fantasy.
“I want to try something,” she said, eyes dark with desire. “It’s a fantasy.”
Dirk stood beside the bed, cock already hard again. “Tell me.”
“I want you to lock me to the bed with your cuffs. And then I want you to fuck me,” she said slowly, “with…things. Something improvised.”
He grinned. “Be right back.”
Carrie rested her head on her bent arm as she watched her muscular Adonis leave the bedroom.
She heard him run downstairs and into the garage. Then the mysterious sound of the water running in the kitchen sink. Then she heard him run back upstairs and down the hallway into the guest bedroom.
And she enjoyed even more watching him re-enter the room, his half-erect long cock bobbing with every step until he climbed back onto the bed, flashing chrome cuffs in hand.
Dirk raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about this?”
She nodded, crawling across the bed to the headboard. “Lock me in. I trust you.”
He fastened the handcuffs to the bedposts, locking her wrists in place. She looked stunning—arms stretched, breasts heaving, legs open and inviting.
He had brought with him with a thick, rounded permanent marker, a clean screwdriver handle, and a shovel with a very thick, rounded and smooth handle.
She laughed, eyes wide, breathless with anticipation. “Start with the smallest, and go slow.”
He did.
The marker went in easily, and she gasped at the feeling of the firm, unnatural intrusion. Closing her eyes, she could feel the marker gliding in and out of her slick vagina several times. It was a nice feeling, but she knew she needed more to climax again. Dirk sensed it too.
Then came the screwdriver handle—wider, colder. Dirk slid the handle along her inner thighs, tickling her slightly. Then she felt the tip of the handle nudge against her labia before plunging into her warmth. She sighed, mouth open and eyes closed again. He began sliding it in and out of her, and he could see this pleased her more. He pushed it deeper with each thrust, enjoying the sounds she was making from the stimulation. She moaned when he pulled it out for the last time and set it down next to her leg.
Next, Dirk picked up the shovel. Eyes half closed, she watched as he spit two gobs of saliva over the handle’s tip before aiming it at her love hole. Pushing it between her legs at a snail’s pace, he slowly but surely pressed the thick handle into her slit. The handle was certainly much thicker than his own cock, and his eyes were locked on her opening as it stretched around the smooth wood. The sensation made her clench, and he began driving it in rhythmically, watching her twist in the cuffs.
“You like being used?” he growled.
She nodded, eyes rolling back. “Yes. Use me. I want to be your toy.”
He really began to fuck her with the handle his own arousal at an all-time high as he watched this sexy, married mother of two writhe in ecstasy from a damn gardening tool! He glanced up at her hands straining against the cuffs as she cried out—pure surrender.
“Oh, Dirk…I’m cu—I’m cumming!” she moaned. “You’re making me cum with that!”
Her moans grew louder, her mouth forming incoherent sounds and words as she arched her back in frozen ecstasy. Finally, she collapsed, and Dirk knew it was time to give her a break. He heard the shovel handle make a pop as it fully withdrew from her gaping pussy. He was amazed to watch a small clear substance trickle from the opening—he didn’t know a pussy could get that wet!
Dirk crawled up next to this unexpected vixen of a housewife, completely taken by this experience. He wondered if there could be more.
After she recovered, Carrie lay curled on Dirk’s chest. “I have another fantasy.”
He looked at her lazily. “I’m all ears.”
“Public sex. Somewhere we might get caught.”
He grinned. “Get dressed in a skirt and grab your shoes.”
⸻
They drove in his car to the back of a large department store. Carrie leaned over to his lap, lowering her face to Dirk’s crotch. She pulled the waistband of his sweatpants down. Of course, he wasn’t wearing any underwear. She wrapped her fingers around his manmeat and began stroking him. As his tool started to grow, she lowered her mouth to it, licking the tip, the head, before finally sinking her warm, wet mouth down on it.
“Oh, God, Carrie!” Dirk groaned. “That feels so fucking good!”
Carrie pumped her mouth up and down the shaft until it was rock-hard. Then she stopped, pulled her panties down to the floorboard. She then hiked up her maxi skirt and climbed on top of him, lowering her hips until his cock was sliding deep into her sopping sex. At the same time, Dirk reached down to the side of the seat and pulled the handle that allowed him to recline it.
Carrie threw her head back, eyes closed and mouth agape as she rocked her hips over his thick shaft. Dirk’s hands were on her hips, guiding her body as he ground into her deeper still.
Windows fogged quickly. Her moans echoed off the tinted glass.
They heard a car pass nearby. She froze—thrilled. Dirk grabbed her ass and thrust up hard. She climaxed. After a few additional thrusts, he followed her in coital euphoria, injecting her deepest depths with his hot seed. She rested her head on his chest as they caught their breath, his hands stroking her back. She finally dismounted him, feeling his essence spill out onto the center console as she collapsed into the passenger seat.
“Shit, that was so hot,” she breathed, wiping the sweat from her brow.
“Fuck yeah, it was,” Dirk responded.
They didn’t get caught. But they might have. And that was enough.
⸻
After, they stopped for lunch at a sunny outdoor café. No one could have guessed what they’d done moments earlier.
They talked. Laughed. Told stories. For a moment, it felt like something real.
Carrie touched her lips with her napkin and smiled at him. “Don’t fall in love with me.”
Dirk leaned back. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re my buddy’s wife. I’ve got enough problems. But I’ve gotta warn you,” he paused. “I’m already in love with your sex drive! You got a single sister somewhere?”
She chuckled at that. “I guess that’s okay,” he smiled, tilting her head. “And it’s only fair, since I’m already in love with that monster between your legs!”
A young woman sitting at a nearby table overheard the comment, turning her head in their direction. She was behind Carrie, so Carrie didn’t see her. But Dirk just smiled and gave the lady a wink. The young lady smiled back with a blush.
⸻
Once back home, she pushed him onto the living room couch, stripping her clothes off. “You started this,” she said, straddling him again, “but I’m going to finish it.”
She rode him with abandon, legs spread wide, her cries muffled by his neck when she felt another orgasm radiate through her. Then he came hard inside her, and she collapsed on his chest.
They lay tangled in silence.
Then Carrie rose, grabbed a towel, and cleaned the couch, shaking her head. “If Brad ever heard about this…”
Dirk laughed. “He won’t.”
⸻
Carrie dressed casually and grabbed her purse. It was time to go pick up the kids. Dirk drove them both to the school. The kids lit up when they saw him.
“Uncle Dirk!” they shouted, racing to hug his legs.
Carrie watched, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. She understood the draw.
They stopped for ice cream, and she found herself grateful. For the day. For Dirk. For the memory that would never leave her.
⸻
Back at home, Carrie cooked dinner while Brad helped the kids with homework. Dirk sat at the table, quiet but smiling. Everything felt… normal.
After dinner, while Brad was upstairs getting the kids ready for bed, Carrie brought Dirk a glass of water.
“No midnight visits tonight,” she said softly. “That was a one-day thing.”
Dirk nodded. “I know.”
She hesitated. “I love Brad. I really do.”
He looked at her with surprising tenderness. “I know that too.”
A beat passed.
“Thank you,” he added quietly. “Today was… something I’ll never forget.”
She smiled. “Me neither.”
They said nothing more.
Later, Carrie crawled into bed beside her husband, who kissed her cheek and wrapped his arm around her.
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, the memories of the day folding neatly into the past.
And she slept soundly.
Epilogue: Saturday Send-Off
The smell of breakfast filled the house—fried eggs, bacon, corned beef hash, and Carrie’s homemade biscuits with thick white gravy. It was the kind of Southern-style spread that made Brad whistle when he walked into the kitchen.
“Damn, babe. You trying to kill us with love?”
Carrie grinned. “Gotta give Dirk a proper send-off.”
Dirk appeared freshly showered, in jeans and a fitted black tee, duffel bag in hand. He looked rested, content, and slightly smug.
“Now this,” he said, surveying the feast, “is why I’ll never turn down a houseguest invitation again.”
They all sat down together. The kids were still in pajamas, and Brad poured orange juice while Carrie brought over the gravy boat.
Dirk took a bite of biscuit and moaned. “Carrie, this is unreal. You cook like this every weekend?”
“Only for special guests,” she said with a wink.
Brad didn’t notice.
At one point, a dab of gravy spilled out of Carrie’s lips. Dirk was the one to tell her, “You… you’ve got a little gravy on your chin, Carrie.” He had a wicked grin on his face after he said it. It clearly resembled “something else”—something dirtier.
It wasn’t lost on Carrie, who grinned back at him as she brought a cloth napkin to her chin. “Thank you,” she said demurely.
After seconds and thirds, Dirk wiped his mouth and stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Well, time to hit the road.”
The kids gave him hugs first—tight and lingering.
“Bye, Uncle Dirk!”
“Come back soon!”
Brad stepped in next, giving his old friend a firm embrace. “Thanks for coming, man. It was really good seeing you.”
“You too,” Dirk said, clapping him on the back. “Glad to see you doing so well.”
Then Carrie approached, wiping her hands on a towel. She smiled warmly, stepping in for a hug.
She held it just a second longer than the others, then leaned in and whispered, “I really enjoyed… having you.”
Dirk chuckled under his breath, eyes sparkling. “I could tell. Best hospitality I’ve ever had.”
They pulled apart with innocent smiles.
Dirk gave a wave, then headed to his car. They all stood in the driveway and waved as he pulled away, his arm rising out the window before disappearing down the street.
⸻
Brad flopped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Well, that was nice. He’s a good guy, huh?”
Carrie stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, still looking slightly flushed from the morning bustle. “He really is,” she said.
“You think you’d want him back sometime?”
Carrie smiled. “Absolutely. In fact… we should visit him sometime.”
Brad blinked. “Yeah? Road trip, huh?”
She kissed the top of his head. “Could be fun.”
Then she turned toward the kitchen and began clearing plates, the ghost of a wicked smile playing on her lips.
The End
(For now.)
