Start of a plan

Julia glanced at the clock in the kitchen—10:15 PM, the house quiet now with the kids tucked away in their rooms, screens glowing behind closed doors. Her phone sat silent on the counter, but the deadline loomed like a guillotine: midnight, or else. The headmaster's command burned in her mind—blow the neighbor's college-aged son, get proof. Ethan. Sweet, oblivious Ethan, home from UCLA, probably scrolling TikTok in his parents' basement right now. Julia's stomach twisted with nerves, her pussy already slick at the degradation of it all, the risk of knocking on their door this late, lying her way inside. But disobedience wasn't an option. She smoothed her hair, adjusted her silk robe over the thin tank and shorts she'd thrown on—innocent enough for a "house emergency," revealing enough to tempt—and slipped out the back door, crossing the manicured lawn that separated their properties under cover of night.

The neighbor's house was dark except for a faint light in the downstairs window—Ethan's room, she guessed. Julia knocked softly on the back door, heart pounding, rehearsing her lie. Footsteps approached; the door cracked open, and there he was: Ethan, tall and lean at nineteen, messy brown hair, wearing basketball shorts and a faded band tee, looking confused but not alarmed.

"Mrs. Edwards? Everything okay? It's kinda late."

Julia **** a flustered smile, clutching her robe tighter as if embarrassed. "Oh, Ethan, I'm so sorry to bother you this late—your parents are out, right? It's just… there's a leak in my bathroom, and it's starting to flood. William's away, and I don't know what to do. Could you come take a quick look? Please? I'd owe you big time."

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, but nodded—polite kid, always had been. "Uh, sure. Let me grab my phone for the flashlight."

They crossed back to her house in silence, Julia leading him upstairs to the guest bathroom she'd prepped earlier: water splashed strategically across the tile floor, dripping from the sink edge like a slow leak. She flicked on the light, gesturing vaguely. "See? It's coming from under the sink, I think. I tried to mop it up, but it keeps going."

Ethan knelt down, peering under the cabinet, running his hand along the pipes. Julia watched him—strong back flexing under his shirt, ass tight in those shorts—and felt a fresh wave of heat between her legs, nerves mixing with the filthy thrill of what she was about to do. After a minute, he straightened, wiping his hands on his shorts. "I don't see anything wrong, Mrs. Edwards. Pipes are dry. Maybe it was just a spill?"

Julia feigned embarrassment, stepping closer, her robe slipping open just a fraction to reveal the curve of her cleavage. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Ethan. I must have overreacted—wasted your time like this. Let me make it up to you." Before he could protest, she reached out, her hand brushing his thigh, then higher, palming the front of his shorts where she felt the soft bulge of his cock twitch under her touch.

His eyes widened, face flushing red as he stepped back. "Whoa, Mrs. Edwards—what are you—? I should go."

But Julia didn't let him, grabbing his wrist with surprising firmness, her other hand squeezing his growing hardness through the fabric. "Shh, it's okay. Just let me thank you properly." She sank to her knees right there on the damp tile, tugging at his waistband, her breath hot against his skin as she freed his young, thickening cock, already half-hard from her bold grip.