At Brody’s request, and because it made her pussy feel as red, plump and juicy as a sweet, ripe strawberry floating in champagne, along with the no underwear edict, Trixie wore nothing but sundresses on the days he came to mow the lawn or clean the pool.  Knee length sundresses; minis; calf length; long and constrictively straight so that she could barely walk, let alone spread her legs; long and billowing so that they swept the floor, almost tripping her.  Strapless, spaghetti, halter.  Solids, polka dots, flowers, random patterns.  Only sundresses, with nothing underneath.  Nothing but his hands, his mouth, his cock.  Those were the things she wore on her pussy.
.        She was cutting up a variety of fruits she’d purchased at the farmer’s market earlier that day to toss into a fruit salad when she heard the lawnmower kick on.  Like Pavlov’s dog, her mouth–and her gash–began salivating at the sound.  Knowing it was his scheduled day to tend to the landscaping, she was already outfitted in today’s dress, a blue and purple multi with spaghetti straps that fell mid-thigh.  The following twenty minutes were excruciating as she completed making the salad, anticipating the silencing of the mower.  She was sitting on the couch, watching The Haves and The Have Nots when she noticed the quiet.  The doorbell rang, and she ran to answer it.
.        She’d been doing this the entire summer, throwing her door open to find Brody on the other side of it, sweaty and half-dressed, sun-tanned and gorgeous, smelling of the earth and eager perspiration.  He wore his pants low on his hips and her eyes went directly to the area where his abdomen met his groin, that delicious vee carved in muscle and vein, the arrow that pointed to the promise of hard, fat cock.  The moment she saw him she wanted him with such an intense hunger that if she had a dick it would be so erect it would be pointing at her forehead.
.        She grabbed his shirt, pulling him inside.  She immediately went for his pants, undoing the zipper.
.        “Wait wait wait,” he said, grasping her wrists just as she’d reached inside his underwear to wrap her hands around his prick.  The heat radiating from it almost sent her into a frenzy.
.        “I need a drink first,” he said, lifting his shirt and using it to wipe the sweat from his face.  “It’s hot as a bitch out there.”
.        She stared at his exposed six-pack, which she knew from experience felt as good as it looked.  Sometimes in the middle of fucking she’d ask him to stop and just lay on top of her, mashing their chests together.  The weight of his pecs mashing her breasts, the feel of his abs on her belly always made for an explosive orgasm once he got going again.
.        “You got any lemonade?”
.        Of course she did, freshly squeezed with lime and sugar, just the way he liked it.
.        Two minutes later they were in her kitchen, Brody drinking a glass of lemonade with Trixie on her knees in front of him, dipping his dick in another.  She lifted it out, lemonade dribbling down her chin as she sucked the liquid off his prick.  He put his empty glass on the counter, pressing his hands on her back, bringing her onto his shaft.  He slid down her throat and she bobbed on his cock, sucking and slurping.  He bent over slightly, bunching her dress up in his hands to reveal her bare ass.  He rubbed it, slapped it playfully, running his fingers in the crack.  When one of them slid down to her gash, she moaned, tilting her pelvis to encourage him further.  He stroked her a moment, slipped his finger in and pumped a few times before straightening up and pulling back.  He placed his hands on her arms and brought her to her feet, steering her into the family room and guiding her over to the couch.
.        Because he was still sweaty and smudged with grass and dirt Trixie paused a moment to retrieve an oversized beach towel and spread it over the sofa before they collapsed on it.  On her back, she spread her legs wide to accommodate his positioning and focused her gaze on his dick, slick with her saliva, fat and stiff as a baseball bat.
.        “Go slow,” she said, watching until the tip was no longer visible as it moved closer to her slit.  She kept her eyes fixed as inch after inch of him disappeared, gliding with aching slowness into her box.  When he was fully entrenched within her, he remained still as she tilted her torso up and down, back and forth, massaging her walls with the length of him.  She slid all the way back, until only the tip remained inside, then slammed into him until her velvety lips were touching his skin, their pubic hair mingling, feeling him as deep as he could possibly go.  She sat up, wrapping her legs around him, lifting herself up and down on his dick, mashing her clitty against him as she came, her plump breasts rasping against his sculpted pecs.  She would have screamed out for him to fuck her harder, but in actuality she was fucking herself, using him as something with which to impale herself, a rippled surface to grind against, and it felt so completely delicious.  Empowering and so incredibly erotic.
.        When her orgasm subsided, she wiggled on his lap for a moment, coming down from the intensity of her climax.  They kissed, and he tugged at her nipples with his teeth, sending ripples of electricity through her.  Finally she lay back, being careful to not un-join from him.  She gestured to the cell phone on the coffee table with her chin.
.        “Take a picture of your dick inside me.”
.        He laughed.  “Seriously?”
.        She smiled languidly, beyond satiated.  “Seriously.”
.        When he began to lift from the sofa, she held her arms out.  “Don’t pull out.”
.        Somehow he managed to stretch to the iPhone without breaking contact and she luxuriated in his subtle movements, purring like a cat.
.        “It just looks like a pussy with hair on it,” he said, looking through the camera.
.        “Take it anyway.  Then pull out a little so I can see your bare skin.”
.        He obliged, taking a few more at her request, in various stages of entering, the final being his head resting just inside her lips.
.        “Mmmm,” she cooed when he’d replaced the phone on the table and stretched his body atop hers.  His penis rested flaccid against her thigh.  “Thank you, baby.”
.        They ate the fruit salad and halved a mozzarella and heirloom tomato sandwich drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.  Afterwards she walked him to the door, kissing him deeply before releasing him to the outside.
.        “See you next week,” she said.  She almost leaned in for another kiss, or a grab at his crotch, but just then she noticed the elder Broderick Daniels coming down his driveway on the way to his mailbox.  He noticed her at the same time and lifted his hand in greeting.  She waved back, prompting Brody to turn around.  He also waved at his father, then turned back to Trixie with a guilty–but devilish–smile.
.        She went back inside and watched from the bay window as Brody walked the mower back over to his house and his father, who remained on the lawn, waiting for him.  When Ricky put his arm around his son and pulled him in for a half hug that ended in a playful hair rumple, Trixie wondered if he could smell the sex on him.  Had he noticed a change in his son’s behavior?  Was there a change?  Trixie thought there must be a change in her; she felt it.  If indeed there was, no one seemed to be noticing it.  Even Maggy, who could sniff out when the squirrels in her backyard had just mated, seemed oblivious to her older sister’s mattress workouts with a teenaged jackhammer.
.        To think at one time not so long ago she had actually thought of Brody as a possible love interest for Mercy!  Now that she had had him herself, she thought he was much too fast for her daughter.  She couldn’t imagine Mercy doing with Brody all the dirty things she herself had done with him.  Her young body being pummeled relentlessly, her sweet little mouth swallowing that fat prick.  Trixie had no idea whether or not her daughter was a virgin.  She knew it was naïve of her to think so, but then again Mercy had never brought anyone significant home to meet her.  There were high school prom dates and study partners and a boy or two she had introduced as “friends,” but she’d never dated anyone longer than two or three dates.  If she’d ever had sex it would have been a one night stand, or with someone she kept secret from Trixie.  She sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case.
.        Trixie liked to think she and Mercy were the kind of mother and daughter who held no secrets between them.