Roy's Conquests: Courtney

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story is a work of fiction. It contains themes of cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, and NTR. If this isn't the fetish for you, don't waste your time flooding my inbox with hate mail— it'll only make me want to write and post MORE cuck stuff (unless, of course, that's your goal...).

Otherwise, I love hearing from fans, and welcome any suggestions, thoughts, criticisms, or fantasy ideas. Enjoy!

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ROY'S CONQUESTS: COURTNEY

***

We're all sinners. Each and every one of us has a deep rooted flaw that defines the worst of our personalities. The hard part is looking within ourselves and acknowledging our own. For me, this comes easily. I'm very aware of what mine is. What doesn't come easily to me is the desire to change. To change, you have to want to. And I simply don't want to.

So what's my sin? I covet. In particular, I covet my the wives of my neighbors. Again, who doesn't? But whereas most men keep it locked away in a guilty corner of their imagination, I act on it. God gifted me with all the tools I'd ever need— charm, charisma, cunning... and a few physical ones that I'll tell you about in due time...

In short, I'm a seducer. It's my lifestyle. And I'm never going to change. It's just too much fun...

***

My neighborhood was, what the local teens would call, "Suburban Hell." It was a classic Stepford Wives utopia of upper-middle class houses in a predominantly white demographic. The yards were open plots of green grass, the hedges were professionally manicured, and most back yards featured swimming pools or Koi ponds. Birds sang their songs. Lawn mowers hummed in the distance. It was the kind of place you'd never hear domestic shouting matches or the blare of a police siren.

My neighbors were mostly young couples in their mid twenties. Innocent and sheltered, fresh out of college, and making their first big bucks as legal aides, or IT professionals, programmers, or some sort of white collar corporate jobs where daddy was friends with the boss and was able to set them up for life. They were all in that transitional period— newly married, making six figures for the first time in their young lives, and figuring that the next step for them was to buy the "dream house", before they'd fill their new nests with babies.

For an old bull like me, that was always the perfect time to strike. It's a time when insecurities run high in young households. Husbands aren't confident, so they devote most of their time to their jobs. Their wives pick up on that lack of confidence, and spend their days fretting over if they made the right choice in mates. Feelings of regret, insecurity, and curiosity are at a fever pitch. Everyone is an adult, but none of them actually feel like an adult. It's easy to see it on their faces...

She wasn't a knock out by any stretch of the imagination. You'd look at her and call her "normal cute". She had long curly brown hair— natural, not dyed— and large blue eyes. Her face reminded me of actress Minnie Driver, especially her nose and cheeks (if that makes sense). Sort of a curving nose that widened (but not unpleasantly). She had round cheeks that gave her nervous smile a small, somewhat chipmunk quality. She would be dynamite if she had the confidence or the know-how to style her hair and makeup... but she didn't, so she fell into the "cute" category. The kind of girl where you'd notice her friend sitting next to her, before you'd notice her.

She'd definitely be a good candidate for one of those makeover shows— the kind where they take a natural 7, give her a new dress, new hair style, and some makeup, and she's suddenly a 9.5.

She was tall, probably about 5'8". One of those girls who hit her growth spurt early in life, and stood a full head taller than her classmates, before they caught up to her. As a result, she was a bit gawky, and tended to let herself slump forward to hide it. Pity really, because she was hiding a tremendous figure. Even her style of dressing was unimpressive and plain. Uninteresting white tennis shoes, baggy jean shorts that came to mid-thigh (the kind that a middle aged mother might wear for a walk in the park), and a plain salmon colored tank top, that was far from "revealing".

But somewhere under that, was a body just waiting to be discovered by someone with the means to appreciate it. She was all leg. Her thighs were thick, long, and smooth, and seemed to go on forever. And hidden by those nervously hunched shoulders was a pair of plump, round D-cups. Maybe even double D's. I could only imagine how fantastic those puppies would look if she simply carried herself with a little confidence— shoulders back, and chest out. The thought made me drool.

I knew I needed a closer look...

Her and her husband were in the process of finishing up their move by the time I took notice. The moving van had long ago shipped out.

I found them unloading their SUV with the last of their boxes.

"Hi there!" I said as I stepped around the hedges that divided our driveways.

They looked up at me, and though there was a bashful quality to the two of them (what is it about kids in their 20's that are so damn introverted?) I could tell that my appearance put them instantly at ease. I'm a very disarming man... probably why I'm so under-the-radar about what I do. Nobody expects to loose their hot young wife to a 60 year old single guy. Despite my age, I'm still a spry fella. I have a home gym that I use obsessively. There's barely an ounce of fat on me. Every single muscle on my body is meticulously maintained and cared for, strengthened to its peak. In my older age, I've come to draw inspiration from Jack Lalanne. You want nice things? You gotta work hard for them. Which is why it's so easy to snatch away nice things from young guys who take the path of least resistance...

On this particular day, my pastel yellow polo was stretched to the limit over my broad pecks, and tight abs. My biceps bulged with the casserole I'd whipped up last night to "greet" the new neighbors. I already had big muscles, but today, I could feel them stretching the sleeves of my polo, threatening to tear through like the Hulk. I made sure the veins stood out, loud and proud.

I can only imagine what they must have thought at my appearance. I've been told on more than one occasion that I look like a door to door Mormon, mixed with a retired swinger. Clean cut with a broad, prominent smile and dazzling white teeth. I tan, so that makes them stand out even more. I still have a full head of hair (thank god), that is bright blonde. I keep it on the longer side, swept back like a surfer boy— it keeps me looking youthful. It's the only part of my body where I have hair, but that'll be our little secret. I usually dress in flip flops, khaki shorts, and pastel polos. I could be the manager at a golf course— disarming and pleasant. I like it that way.

"I'm Roy. Roy David. I live next door. I wanted to welcome you folks to the neighborhood."

They looked tired and messy. The husband set down his box and shook my hand. His palm was clammy and his grip was weak. My paw absolutely enveloped his. "Steve Hammond," he told me.

He was a sweaty pudgy kid in cargo shorts with pale skin, a baby face and flaming red hair that was matted to his scalp. His features were lively— a man-boy who probably aggravated his wife from time to time with a relentlessly juvenile sense of humor. He looked like the type of guy who'd rather watch internet videos of people getting hit in the balls, instead of read a book. And he was definitely the type to go outside in shorts, even during winter because he was lazy— but would tell everybody it was because the cold didn't bother him.

"This is my wife, Courtney," Steve waved over his shoulder, almost absently, before returning his attention to the bowl in my arms. "Ooh! What'd you bring us?"

I laughed good-naturedly. Of course dough-boy's eyes went right to the food. "Just something I whipped up the second I spotted your moving van!" I handed him the bowl.

Courtney was juggling a large awkward box in her arms, and trying to leverage it higher with her knee. The sweat gleamed pleasantly from her long thick thigh. I could assess them immediately. She was out of his league but had no clue. Her self esteem issues were the reason she'd married the first guy she'd dated. And though her expression told me that she wasn't always thrilled by Steve, she figured him as her only option. I'd happily give her a thrill...

She barely even looked my way. "Hi," she said disinterestedly, fighting her burden.

"Baby, lunch has arrived," he called over his shoulder.

"Steve, could you help me?" She grunted.

Steve began to mutter out an apology, but I intervened. "No, I got it." I hurried over to Courtney, getting my first up-close look at my next project. A corner of the box had snagged her shirt, and pulled it low. I got a hint of the tops of her plump breasts. They were luscious and round— the sweat standing out like droplets of dew, catching the light and sparkling on her tanning skin. I caught a hint of tan-likes in that flash. I resolved right then that I'd have my chance to play with them.

"Here, allow me," I smiled my usual pleasant smile, and before she could protest, I snatched it from her arms. "Jeez," I grunted, hefting it and shifting the weight to just one arm (it really wasn't that heavy for me) "What do you got in here? The entire encyclopedia?"

She smiled shyly, though I could tell there was a lingering hint of annoyance that Steve hadn't rushed over to help. She just didn't want to call him out in front of company. Fine by me. "Thanks," she dusted her hands on her shorts and adjusted her top. "Umm... books yes, but not the encyclopedia."

She shook my hand as I offered it to her. My enormous palm completely enfolded hers. I let my hand linger on hers for just a second longer than is conventional, deliberately never taking my eyes off hers. Young men and women have no concept of the power of eye contact.

"I would guess Stephen King," I carried the box easily in one arm, inviting myself up the front steps and into the living room, "But I'm betting that you don't care for horror. You look more like a..." I paused, narrowing my eyes and using this as a pretext to appraise her body beneath those frumpy clothes (I was not disappointed). "A Shakespeare kind of girl. Romantic and thoughtful."

She laughed bashfully and I could see her lack of people skills showing. She legitimately didn't know what to say to that. Her cheeks had the slightest hint of color. Her smile was hesitant. I couldn't tell if my intrusion was making her annoyed or self conscious— maybe a little of both. But that never stopped me before.

Like I figured, she shied away from the compliment. "Yeah, I'm not one for horror. I know it's not popular to say, but I hate Halloween. I want to just hide the entire month of October." She admitted.

I laughed. "I'm not a fan either," I lied. "But that's because I have a sweet tooth, and would rather keep all the candy for myself then pass it out."

"Good to know I'm not alone," she smiled, loosening up a bit.

"Never," I winked.

You know the nice thing about being old enough to be a married woman's father? She doesn't suspect I'm being flirty. There's a lot of things I can say that will get dismissed as merely 'Oh, Roy's just being nice.'

Steve passed us, heading for the kitchen. "Oh god, are you guys talking Halloween already?" he asked.

"Roy doesn't like it either," Courtney declared happily, like she finally had someone on her side in an on-going feud.

"Well then you and Roy can hide in your bunkers until it's over," Steve called playfully back at us.

"Steve's big into Halloween," Courtney sighed.

"His loss," I shrugged. "This year we'll keep our lights off and we'll pass skittles and sangria back and forth over the fence."

She laughed. "Sounds like the best Halloween ever."

I set the box down near the bookcase and dusted my hands.

"Thank you," she said. "But seriously, you don't have to carry in our stuff."

"Piece of cake. Give me something heavy next time." I smiled. I noticed her eyes go to arms for just a moment. I was sure to flex them slightly, making the veins pop. My pecks jumped when I did. "Hey, just because I'm an old man doesn't mean I'll break a hip when I pick things up and put them down."

"No no," she held up her hands defensively. "I didn't mean—"

I enjoyed the way her cheeks splashed with color when I teased her. "To assume I'm some helpless old man?" I allowed the smirk.

She grew even brighter red. "No, nothing like that."

I grinned. "Little lady, if you'd been born 20 years earlier, or I'd been born 20 years later, I'd show you a thing or two."

This earned a bright red blush. She laughed dismissively, but I let my eyes stay locked on hers until she looked away. The gears were turning in her head to decide if I'd been light hearted or serious.

"So, umm... would you like to stay for lunch?" She hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

"No, I'd better not. I just came to say hello and welcome you both. I'm glad to have some eye candy living next door," I winked at her, earning another blush. "But I have a BBQ to set up for. I'll be grilling tomorrow in the backyard, if you and your husband want to swing by and drop off my bowl."

"Oh, ummm..."

"Only if you want. No pressure," I shrugged in a no big deal way. "If you don't feel like cooking and want to take a dip in my pool after the big move, feel free to drop in." I knew that her house didn't have a pool.

"Okay, maybe we will." She smiled.

I headed for the door and she called after me, "Nice meeting you!"

"Nice meeting you." I glanced back and winked.

***

I knew they would show up for my little get-together. The food I gifted them pretty much insured that. Young up-and-comers are always trying to be so polite.

They came around the corner into the back yard with timid expressions of what to expect. Steve was wearing bright red swim trunks and a dark gray t-shirt that did nothing to flatter his doughy gut. A towel was slung over his shoulder. He had a pair of bright plastic sunglasses (that looked like he bought them from a 25 cent gumball machine at the Chuck E Cheese) resting on top of his red hair. He came prepared for a swim.

Courtney didn't. She was in a blue sundress with spaghetti straps. It was tight across her chest, and I was right to assume she was sporting a pair of perfect round double D's. She didn't dress to show them off, but it just so turned out that the outfit hugged them tight without being overly showy. She probably didn't even know how spectacular they were— which only made me want them more. They were an discovered oasis of fun and possibilities. I just needed to loosen her up. The straps of her white bra were visible beneath— hanging on for dear life to support those puppies.

Below the delightful curve of her breasts, her dress was light and breezy. It came down to her knee— again, modest and conservative. But what was this, just above her flip flops? Was that an ankle tattoo? I grinned to myself. She had a tattoo of a flower— some sort of wild lupine or lavender. It screamed of a quiet girl's attempt to prove that she could be daring. I glanced at her husband and mused— probably not as daring as she wished she could be.

She had sunglasses resting on her head, and her hair had been styled over one shoulder, wavy and wild and teasing one of her eyes behind a veil of cascading brown.

The expression she wore was one of apprehensive nervousness. She didn't know what to expect, and that was just fine with me. Clearly she was not a social butterfly. She was here out of politeness. And it was even more evident by the party around them.

My parties aren't exactly ragers. I work hard to keep my yard immaculate— my own little oasis. My pool is small, but tropical and eye catching, surrounded by lush plant life to create the illusion of a jungle. A wooden deck sits beneath a pergola, dressed up with furniture to be an outdoor lounge— complete with wet-bar and a recessed hot tub. And beneath the overhang of my back patio, an outdoor kitchen and tables— all made and installed by yours truly.

I'm sure that caught the attention of Mr. and Mrs. Hammond. But so did my guests. Let's just say... I'm part of a community who shares the same 'interests'. The vast majority of my guests are women of all ages. A few of the younger crowd in their early twenties lounged by the pool in their sun glasses and tanning oil. Bottled blondes with the bodies of NFL cheerleaders— they hadn't been difficult conquests, but they sure were trophies that were easy to admire. Especially with their bikinis untied to avoid tan lines.

But a lot of my guests were also older gals. Middle aged and up, in expensive bathing suits that showed off more skin than women their age often do, wraps and beach sarongs, and sparkling jewelry and accessories. They were still knockouts, but with something to prove. I don't discriminate. I like them all. The few men who were in attendance were my age (and not a young 60, I assure you). Friends who were willing to "trade" with me from time to time. They were lounging in the bubbling hot tub that was recessed into my deck.

One of them caught sight of Courtney and couldn't resist commenting, "Oh man, Roy. Your parties get better and better."

I cleared my throat. "They're my new neighbors. Don't scare them away," I mumbled from the corner of my mouth. I put on a sunny smile and waved to them from behind the grill.

The relief washed over their faces as they made their way over. I couldn't help but admire the way the gentle breeze made Courtney's dress cling to those long legs.

"Glad you two could make it!" I said, delighted. I flipped a few burgers and closed the grill lid.

"Hi, thanks for having us," Courtney said, holding the a bowl just beneath those big plump melons of hers. "We brought your bowl back. Thank you for the casserole, it was delicious. I topped you off with some pasta salad," she smiled, slightly bashful, as though she wasn't confident that it would be very good.

"Thanks, sweetie. We'll make this a regular thing." I gestured between me and her with the tongs. "We'll just keep passing it back and forth. The bowl, that is," I let a playful smile spread across my face, and gave Steve a wink. He wasn't really listening. He was already eyeing up the pool.

"Feel free to go for a dip," I told him.

"I think I might take you up on that, Roy," he beamed.

I turned back to Courtney. "Where's your suit? Don't tell me you're not going in." I insisted.

"We're not done unpacking, and I couldn't find it," Courtney admitted. But the way she kept her eyes averted, I knew that was a lie. She was self conscious about being in a bathing suit in front of new people. I don't know why. Her body was already drawing the stares of the male guests, and the ire of the female ones.

I couldn't resist. "That's fine. You can just jump in in your underwear. Or nothing at all. We're not a judgy bunch of perverts, right fellas?"

Courtney's eyes widened in disbelief. The color spread across her cheeks.

Before she could say something, her husband burst out laughing. "Wow, he's got my sense of humor. I like this guy," Steve declared.

"You would," Courtney shook her head and snickered slightly.

I slapped Steve on the back with one large hand. "I'm only half kidding. I've got a few spares if you need one." I clacked the tongs a few inches from her nose, like I was going to playfully bite her.

"Spares?" She cocked an eyebrow at me.

I shrugged. "I get visitors from time to time, and they sometimes don't bother with their bathing suits, or forget them here."

Steve's eyes went to the girls lounging by the pool. He got my meaning.