The Hat Trick Pt. 01

"Dad, this is Ryan," said Sarah proudly, raising her voice above the din of the masses. The Amalie Arena was at full capacity and charged with expectancy, as the fans waited impatiently for the game between the Lightning and the Capitals to begin.

Donald Robinson struggled to wedge his 6-foot fleshy frame from his seat, then rose to greet the latest object of his daughter's fascination.

"Nice to meet you, sir," said Ryan, shaking his hand.

"Call me Don," he replied, loudly, "What's that on your head?" he added, stifling a smirk.

"I'm originally from Baltimore," said Ryan, smiling, placing his hand on his Capitals cap, "but guessing you already knew that."

"Yes, Sarah told me," said Don, smiling back, "No doubt having you here will make for a more interesting evening."

There was another few minutes of friendly back and forth, then realizing he'd forgotten something important, Don turned to help the woman next to him to her feet.

"This is Maxine."

Ryan shifted his gaze to Don's wife - a petite woman dressed all in black, save for a delicate pink sweater. She looked up at him from under the brim of her Bolts hat; she was white as a sheet.

"Mrs. Robinson," said Ryan, a surprise in his voice and behind his light brown eyes. He reached around Don's humpty-dumptiness for her limp wrist and shook her hand. She nodded weakly, then addressed her husband.

"I'll go get us a couple beers before the game starts," she said, stumbling past them, then she fought her way to the aisle and took off like a shot.

"I'll help her," said Ryan.

"Thank you son," Don replied, patting Ryan's shoulder.

Sarah smiled at her dad as they watched the thoughtful young man weave his way methodically towards the Promenade. At 33, she was still seeking that special someone, and she hoped she had found him in 37-year old Ryan Axel. She had really talked him up before this 'Meet the Parents' event, and obviously he had made a fine first impression on her father. As for Maxine, when she had learned Ryan was a bartender at the Slipshot, she'd become steadfast in her opposition to him.

Ryan waved up at Sarah and her dad as he approached the entrance to the concourse; hold it together, he told himself. When he was finally out of their purview, he darted into the herd of hockey hounds, and before too long, he spotted his target.

"Roxanne!" he yelled, and Maxine slowed, spun, and readied for the dreaded exchange.

"Well well well," he said, resting his hand on her lower back and guiding her crosscurrent through the crowd and up against the wall. He leaned to place his palms on the concrete on either side of her shoulders, pinning her.

"So Roxanne, the bewitching barfly, is really Maxine Robinson - a respectable married woman and my girlfriend's mother!"

"Stepmother," Maxine said, flatly.

"So tell me, stepmother, what did your hubby think you were doing all those Sunday afternoons?" he said, jutting his chin towards hers.

Maxine looked down.

"Bible study," she said, quietly.

"BAHAHAHAHA! That's fucking hilarious!" he said, slapping the wall beside her head. It startled her and she ducked, attempting to get out from under his detention, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back. She looked somewhat frightened; this was not his intention.

"The bar isn't the same without you," he said, "We've . . . I've missed you."

Ryan gazed dreamily into Maxine's crystal blue eyes and came in for a sweet kiss, but she turned her head, and his lips swept her cheek.

"Do you know what it was like, week after week, watching you leave the bar with some ol' geezer?" he continued, "Wanting so badly for it to be me - knowing I could keep you cumming long after their droopy dicks dried up!"

"Ryan, please," Maxine said, knitting her brows, frowning.

"Then one night you stay until closing," he added, "and I finally get my big chance with the ravishing redheaded Roxanne. Then PFFFFT, you were gone."

Ryan threw up his hands.

"It's Maxine!" she blurted, "and I'm sorry, Ryan, but this is not the time for a trip down memory lane!"

She got around him and took off again, and once more he made chase. She rounded a corner and joined one of several long lines of thirsty fans, and Ryan positioned himself directly behind her. He was close, too close, making it difficult for her to ignore his possessive presence.

"Those men," she said, over her shoulder, "They just walked me to my car for safety reasons. That's all."

She shrugged.

"What? No kiss?" Ryan asked, as he swept her copper mane from her shoulders, then bent to peck her neck with his soft full lips.

She inhaled sharply and shivered.

"No ass grab?" he added, palming her backside stuffed into stretch black denim - definitely NOT mom jeans.

"Stop it Ryan," she whispered, flexing her hips forward and sweeping her hands behind her to knock his away.

"No brush of your breast?" he continued, skating a hand up under the back of her jacket, "Because that's what I got when I walked you to your car."

Ryan petted around the pink cashmere on his way to a titty squeeze; he didn't make it. Maxine whirled and raised her hand to smack him. He caught her wrist and pulled her close; it was a risky move, but no one noticed. The throng around them had thickened, the music was amped, and the scene somewhat chaotic - the pregame show was about to begin.

"It was one time, and I was drunk!" she whisper-yelled, "I wish you'd just forget about it!"

"It was magical," he said, refusing to yield, "and drunk or not, you wanted it, and I wanted to give it to you."

Once again, Ryan bent to kiss her lips, and once again she twisted away.

"I said STOP IT!"

Her exclamation drew the attention of a burly biker in the line next to them. Ryan released his grip on Maxine's wrist and raised his arms in surrender, then tucked his hands under his armpits. The biker shot Ryan a threatening glance, then faced forward and ordered his beer.

"Look - Ryan," she said, under her breath, "Obviously I find you extremely attractive. You're young and smart and funny and sexy and-"

"Keep talkin' Mrs. Robinson," he said, then he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You're making me hard."

Maxine gripped Ryan's upper arms and squeezed in frustration.

"Would you please listen to me! I let things go too far that night for reasons I can't go into now, but it scared me, and ever since, I've been staying away from bars . . . and bartenders. Now please, let's just start over."

She backed up against the counter, smiled, then stuck out her hand.

"Hello Ryan, nice to meet you, I'm Sarah's stepmom, Maxine Robinson."

But Ryan was having none of it, and when the vendor yelled, "Next!" and Maxine turned to order, he slipped his arms under her jacket and around her waist, and lifted her off the floor.

"Mmmmmmm, Roxy," he murmured, as he slowly lowered her back down, "You smell so good - like pussy and perfume." The hum of his voice tickled her ear, and she bent her head sideways to stop it. But despite her intention and subsequent efforts to avoid this dirty duologue, Ryan's persistence, accompanied by his hot breath on her neck and his cock twitching against her backside, began to shatter her resolve. When she relented just a little and let her head fall back against his shoulder, he knew he had her - it was just a matter of timing, location, and turn of phrase.

"Let's finish what we started, Mrs. Robinson," he whispered, his palm sliding up her inner thigh, under the counter and out of sight, "and then I promise, I'll turn all my attention to your daughter."

"Stepdaughter," she said, choking on the word.

Then all of a sudden, a whirl and a flurry, as a group of brawling beer-seekers lurched forward, hurtling Ryan hard against Maxine, forcing her face first onto the wet counter.

"Jesus man!" someone shouted, as brew flew, "Watch it!"

Eventually they righted themselves, and Maxine turned to face Ryan. She opened her jacket and looked down at her Bud-soaked sweater - her nipples had pushed an appearance through it; it made his one-eyed Willy blink twice.

"What a mess!" she said, flicking foam from her fingers, "I need to change. Don's got a teeshirt in the car."

Ryan looked confused.

"How will you get back into the arena? There's no reentry."

Maxine smiled.

"There is if you know Jack Dawson," she said, "He works for the GM - his son went to school with Sarah."

And Ryan's eyes lit up - the synapses firing in his testosterone-fueled imagination.

"I'll go with you!" he said.

"No," said Maxine, wagging her finger at him and pulling a 50-dollar bill from the inside pocket of her jacket, "You need to get the beer and get back to our seats. I'll be there shortly."

Ryan slumped and took the money, but on further reflection, decided he wasn't ready to give up on the backseat boogie opportunity, and soon after, Maxine felt his hand around her shoulders.

"What are you doing?!"

"I'm walking you to your car, Roxanne - just like old times."

He winked.

"You're hopeless," she said, as she hoofed it to the Teal parking lot, and Ryan skipped along beside her like an untrained labradoodle.

When they were almost up on the vehicle, Maxine tapped her key fob, and the locks and lights on the Range Rover jumped to life, and the hatch began to lift.

"Wow," Ryan exclaimed, with an approving nod, "this is a big step up from your Honda; guessing this is Don's car."

"It's OUR car," she said, reaching for Don's XXXL Tom Brady teeshirt with the goat on it.

"That husband of yours is huge," said Ryan, "Guessing if you get any sex at all, it's doggy." He laughed, then his voice dropped an octave and took on a decidedly more desirous timbre.

"I'd make love to you missionary."

He stepped back and squatted to get a better view of Maxine's perfectly fabulous fanny bent over the tailgate.

"Work my tongue low between your legs, then lick you north, stopping to probe your pussy and flick your clit . . ."

Oh my God that's hot, Maxine thought, as she continued to dig through Don's old gym bag; he hadn't worked out in over a year. What would he think if he knew his wife had an itch she wanted his daughter's new boyfriend to scratch.

"then up your tummy, over your beautiful breasts - oh I'd have to stop there for a good long suck and nibble - that's for sure. By then you'd be pulling on my shaft - begging for it. I'd nudge my thick tip between your soft wet slit and bury it in you."

Ryan was pretty proud of his improvised monologue and quite sure it had wetted her panties - and it had, but Maxine showed no indication of it and threw a towel at him.

"Cover me," she said, removing her black leather jacket.

"Gladly!" Ryan replied, wide-eyed, holding the towel up in front of her. She clutched the hem of her sodden sweater, then turned her back to him, lifted the sweater over her head, and flung it in the back of the Range Rover.

"Oh COME on!" Ryan whined like a spoiled child, and when Maxine unclasped her bra and threw it in after, he stomped his foot.

"Turn around! Show me your tits! After all those free drinks I gave you? You OWE me!!"

But very quickly Maxine was swallowed up in the teeshirt's abundant yardage, and without the reveal Ryan was hoping for. He huffed, dropped the towel, and deflated. He looked so beautifully sad, and just then Maxine felt a twinge of guilt.

"I'm sorry Ryan," she said, holding his hands, peering up at him, "But we have to get back; the game has started."

Ryan interlaced his fingers with hers, pinned her arms behind her back, and pierced her with his penetrating eyes.

"One kiss, one squeeze, one feel - same as last time - please Roxy," he begged. And although she knew she was putting herself in the path of temptation, Maxine tilted her head back, shut her eyes, and leaned into it.

"Mmmmmmm, mama," Ryan moaned, as he snaked his sweet tongue down deep into her mouth and dug the long, strong fingers of his left hand into her round bottom. When he pressed his right palm to her breast and squeezed it through the flimsy fabric, the marshmallow flesh of her mature mams overwhelmed his fingers.

"Damn! Roxy. You are the hottest MILF I've never fucked!" he added, flexing his hips into hers.

"Don't be so crude," she said, feigning disgust, but Ryan's youthful enthusiasm was as intoxicating as his double gin and tonics. And he was right - she had wanted it, but sanity had ruled the day. Now history was repeating itself, and she wished for an alternate ending; unfortunately that was impossible.

"We need to go," Maxine said, breaking the spell they were casting over each other. She reached for her jacket and hit the key fob, and the back hatch began to lower.

"NO!" he blurted, snatching the keys from her, and the hatch began to rise. "Just a little more. PLEASE!"

And before Maxine could decide whether or not to give him extra time to do whatever it was, Ryan lifted her onto the edge of the tailgate, then ran his fingers up the back of her neck - raking her red hair and tipping the Bolts cap free. He knotted her mane in his fist, and kissed her hard, then pressed her down onto her back - resting her head on a blanket. And caught up in that fiercely romantic flow, she returned his affection, green-lighting an escalation. He rolled on top of her, wedged his knees between her legs, and began to hickey and dry hump her on the cargo mat.

"Oh my God, this is insane," Maxine groaned, as she tried to muster the will to fight her carnal craving for him.

"Damn it baby," Ryan said, struggling unsuccessfully to unzip her jeans, "Wish you would have worn one of your low-cut dresses."

He chuckled.

"Ryan, this is futile!" said Maxine, pushing him off of her and making her way to standing, "We have to stop. We're going to get caught!"

"OK OK you're right." he said, resigned, and he crawled out after her, "Just do me one little favor before we go back."

"What favor?" she said, looking at her watch, frowning.

"Let me put my hand under that teeshirt."

"You're incorrigible," she huffed, retrieving her keys.

"Please, just give me one minute with them," he said, his hands in prayer position, "I've been dreaming about it for so long," he added, doing his best sad dog impression. He tugged on the hem of the teeshirt, and getting no resistance, he slipped his hand under it, placed his palm on Maxine's warm belly, and drummed his fingers.

She glanced at her watch again, then looked at Ryan.

"Oh for heaven's sake, all right, but make it quick!"

Ryan smiled a little boy smile, then trailed the tips of his fingers along her slim torso and up under the curve of her heavy breast.

"Mmmmmmmm," he hummed, "Close your eyes and relax, Roxy. I want you to enjoy this as much as I'm going to."

Maxine took a deep breath and held it as she felt the pads of Ryan's fingers crawl up to a nipple. When he rolled it between his thumb and index finger, she exhaled, closed her eyes, and yielded to his touch. It felt good - too damn good - and her body responded: a slow spread of heat deep into her pelvis, followed by a steamy trickle of her liquor onto the soft cotton crotch of her panties.

She swooned and he kissed her, sweetly at first, then with great intention, prompting her to moan into it and rest her head against his collarbone. He skated his hand to her left breast to give it equal treatment, and moved his other, very gently, very slowly, to her zipper, being careful not to startle her.

"No, we can't," she protested weakly - too weakly to convince herself, let alone Ryan, who was damned and determined to round third base.

This time the zipper cooperated, making way for Ryan's muscular middle finger. He slipped it beneath the scalloped lace edge of her panties, then through the densely forested mound and onto her blossoming tinkleflower - he circled it with his fingernail.

"Oh my GOD!" she shouted, encouraging him to soldier on to his next objective. He dragged the hem of the teeshirt up over one of her mamasan tits; her red nipple was puckered and stiff, and the cool breeze was tickling it stiffer. Then he lowered his greedy lips and teased her circumference with his tongue. The sublime swirling of her nipple and clit in concert, stirred something in Maxine - something she hadn't experienced in a very long time.

"Ryan," she said, her breathing ragged, "I think I might . . . I think I might . . . "

"You think you might what Roxanne?" he asked, smiling to himself.

"I think I might have an orgasm."

She sounded surprised, because she was. It had been ages since she'd climaxed at someone else's urging.

"All right, Mrs. Robinson," he chuckled, "I'll make you cum. But you're going to owe me, and you're going to pay up tonight."

And driven to demonstrate his commitment, and counting on some creative compensation, he shifted focus from his own immediate need to hers. He hooked his thumbs under her waistband and scooched her jeans and her panties down over her pearl white ass to her upper thighs. Exposed, nipples to nest, to the elements and to Ryan, she began to tremble.

"GodDAMN woman you're beautiful!" he said, as he bent to kiss her belly button, "and tonight you're all mine."

Ryan wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to steady and warm her. Her neck was red under her right ear where he'd sucked it rough; the sight of it made his mouth water. He kissed the spot - tenderly at first - then he opened wide, and Maxine's head lobbed to the side, unable to resist his draculaic devouring. When he wedged his hand down deep into her panties, she widened her stance, giving him the workspace he needed to slip two fingers up into that dead end street and work her stony clit with his thumb.

"Oh shit oh fuck," Maxine groaned, as she twerked triple-time against his prodding.

Ryan grinned - he'd never heard her swear before, and it was then he realized he had complete control over this 58-year old married woman who had tormented him with her absence. It was exhilarating, and now it was time to exert the ultimate influence. He moved his lips once more onto her heaving breast, then licked and sucked and nipped her nipple to the rhythm of the finger fucking, until she had nowhere to go but over.

She cried out, then came in his hand.

******

"MAXINE!"

"Oh no, oh no," she fretted, as she rushed to pull her herself together. Ryan was somewhat calmer, taking the time to put his fingers to his nose and mouth and inhale her essence before smoothing his brown hair into place and rearranging his boner - it was banging against his fly. He grabbed her jacket and covered his groin with it just as her husband reached the back of the Range Rover.

Don leaned over the end of the tailgate and steadied himself with his palms; he was sweating and his breathing was labored.

"Are you all right?" Maxine asked, placing her hand on his shoulder, "You know you shouldn't exert yourself like that. The doctor said-"

"I'm OK," he said, cutting her off and struggling to recover, "Just glad I found you." He gulped in some air. "Sarah and I have been worried."

Then Don lifted his gaze and took in the scene: his wife somewhat disheveled and engulfed in his teeshirt - her bra and sweater strewn haphazard in the back of the car. His daughter's boyfriend clutching Maxine's jacket - a shit-eating grin on his face. And if the curious visual wasn't enough, it was accented by a strange mix of odors - sweat, beer, cologne, and new car, and . . . and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. What could possibly explain this?

But before Don's inquiring mind could stumble it's way onto the answer, Maxine launched into an animated embellishment of the half truth. She spoke of a gang of unruly Caps fans, obviously drunk and possibly on drugs, flinging beer and violently pushing her into the counter - she was almost knocked out cold! Ryan had come to her rescue - why if he hadn't been there, she may have been carted off to the hospital! He almost had to carry her to the car! Then he stood guard while she changed - he was a perfect gentleman of course. She wasn't sure she had fully recovered - she felt dizzy - she might need to seek medical attention to rule out a concussion; she'd call the doctor tomorrow.