Chapter 65: The Maintenance MILF

"Looks like I came at the wrong time," she said, eyes dropping pointedly to the bulge in my shorts, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

This woman’s skin was glistening with sweat from whatever hard work she’d been doing—golden, smooth, making every curve look even hotter. She really did some real labor in her line of work, and it showed in the way her body moved—strong, curvy, built.

"Oh no, no," I said, playing it cool, stepping aside to let her in. "She was just visiting me—checking if I’m good at the new place. I just moved in two days ago."

"You want your shower fixed, or should I come later?" she asked, smiling wider, like she knew exactly what kind of "visiting" had been going on.

"Yeah, come in please," I said, welcoming her. "I’m free right now, and the shower’s been broken since I moved in."

She stepped inside, glancing around—the messy bed catching her eye immediately. "Pretty rough in here," she commented, voice casual but knowing.

This woman could tell what had been happening to Lily. Lily managed maintenance, after all.

"Hey," I said low as she headed toward the bathroom, "let’s not tell Lily what you saw here, yeah?"

"I don’t know..." she played, glancing back with that smirk.

"Let me check what’s broken first."

She knew where the bathroom was—obviously worked in other apartments too. I followed her, shirtless, half-bulge still obvious in my shorts.

She got to the shower, looked at it, then removed her toolkit from her waist and laid it down. Then she knelt, checking the pipes under it.

Damn.

Then her ass came fully into view. The toolkit had hidden it before, but now—bent over on all fours, those tight blue pants stretched impossible over her big, breedable cheeks—thick, round, the seam riding deep between them.

Her back glistened with sweat, making the skin glow, her sleeveless vest clinging damp, heavy boobs hanging and swaying as she worked.

I couldn’t stop myself.

I hadn’t fully finished with my aunt—she’d interrupted us at the worst moment, leaving me edged and aching. This view was too much.

I pulled my cock out right there—still slick from Melanie—and started stroking slow, eyes locked on that thick ass, those bent thighs. I’d do anything to slip between them slow, feel that heat grip me.

Her sweat made everything hotter—vest damp and clinging, toned arms flexing, smooth armpits visible when she reached for tools.

She glanced back mid-work—still bent, tits jiggling heavy as she turned. "I found the problem," she said casual, eyes dropping to my hand stroking my cock.

She froze for a heartbeat... then just smiled—slow, knowing—and kept talking, explaining the issue like me jerking off to her ass was the most normal thing.

Fuck, it only made me hornier—stroking faster, precum dripping.

She called me closer. "Sir, come here—look, this is the issue."

She didn’t care I was stroking. Just kept working, ass high, glancing at my cock while she explained.

I stepped right behind her—dick in hand, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body, the faint scent of her sweat mixing with the steam in the small bathroom.

"You’ve gotten so hard, sir," she said, voice low and amused, eyes fixed on my throbbing cock, not even pretending to look away now.

"Yeah," I rasped, stroking slow, letting her watch. "Hard not to when you look like that."

She bit her lip, ass shifting just a fraction—teasing or inviting, I couldn’t tell—but the way her thighs pressed together told me everything.

"Don’t you feel awkward... me looking at you while I stroke my dick?" I asked, voice rough, still staring at her sweat-glistened ass bent over like that.

She laughed soft—husky, turned on—still fiddling with the pipe, tool in hand but barely working now. "A guy getting this hard for a woman my age? It’s exciting, actually."

"Oh yeah?" I said, stroking slower, letting her watch the full length. "I’m pretty sure plenty of guys hit on you."

"No," she murmured, shaking her head, hips swaying subtle as she pretended to focus. "I haven’t even gone on a date in years. Why would anyone date an old lady like me? I just focus on work."

Fuck. This MILF was enjoying it—loving that a young guy was rock-hard for her sweaty, hardworking body.

How could I not? Pure raw sin, bent over like that, ass straining the pants, sweat making her skin glow.

I wanted to bury my face in it, smell that musky, fresh sweat, lick every drop off those thick thighs.

I thought—I should tease her more.

She kept explaining the problem—pointing at some valve, words trailing as she worked.

I leaned down on my knees, face level with hers now, cock inches from her cheek—acting like I was listening, nodding, but really letting her feel the heat radiating off it. So close to her body, the size and thickness impossible to ignore.

She glanced at it—eyes widening at the veins, the girth, the way it pulsed. The way she’d said she hadn’t dated in years screamed her body hadn’t gotten the attention it deserved—neglected, starving for touch.

Her nipples tightened through the sweat-damp vest, poking hard now, hips swaying more, words cutting off mid-sentence as she "explained."

She was breaking—eyes flicking back to my cock every few seconds, breath quicker, thighs rubbing together.

As she kept explaining the problem—pointing at the valve, words trailing off more with every glance at my cock—I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I put my hand on her ass—full palm, groping good, fingers sinking deep into the thick, juicy flesh through the tight pants.

She flinched hard, a sharp gasp escaping, body jolting—but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t say stop. She was hungry—years without touch—and her body betrayed her completely, pushing back into my grip like it was starving.

"Wow... you’re really thick," I said low, squeezing harder, kneading both cheeks now, feeling them overflow my hands, so plump and perfect.

She couldn’t say no. She was giving in already—moaning soft, hips swaying into my touch, thighs rubbing together as her pussy soaked through.

"Are you married?" I asked, hands sliding down to squeeze those juicy, plump thighs—soft yet firm, the kind built for wrapping around a man.

"I’m divorced, sir," she moaned, voice breathy, letting me control her fully. "I live with my daughter..."