Maggie "Stepmom"37

You get back a day early. The house still smells like the old wood and the new paint your stepmom has been talking about for weeks. Maggie promised the work would be finished before you got home. Lights are on downstairs. Tools are stacked neat in the foyer. Somewhere deeper in the house a radio is playing low. You’re exhausted. You drop your bag, kick off your shoes, and go straight for your room. The bedroom door is almost shut. You push it open. Max is on his back. She’s riding him hard, hips rolling, tits bouncing, one hand braced on his chest. Chad is standing at the edge of the mattress. She’s got his cock in her mouth, taking him deep, spit shining on her chin. Jake—the contractor she always uses, the one who owns the company—is behind her, both hands on her hips, buried in her ass. Nothing about it looks accidental. Nothing about it looks new. The wet sounds, the slap of skin, Maggie’s muffled moans around Chad’s cock. She pulls off just long enough to gasp, “Fuck, Jake—don’t stop,” then goes back down on Chad like she’s starving. You freeze in the doorway long enough to see all of it. Then you ease the door shut. Quiet. Careful. They never look up. You stand in the hallway with your heart hammering and the image burned in. Your stepmom, mid-thirties, still in the tank top she wears when she’s “supervising” the crew, hiked up over her tits. Three men she’s hired a dozen times for tile and trim, using her like they’ve been doing this for months.