Unlikely Tryst: When Sloan Met Sally

BY : UnlikelyTrysts
Category: M through R > Percy Jackson & the Olympians
Dragon prints: 78517
Disclaimer: I do not own the "Percy Jackson and the Olympians series", and I am not profiting off of this work.

Cutting class wasn't anything new to him, and skipping detention was a breeze, but this was the first time Matt Sloan took off to go and play 007 following a pair of double-O-D. 

Well probably C's if he was being honest with himself, but hey, a guy could dream. Plus he was planning on finding out for himself soon enough anyway.

Finding the Jackson residence wasn't hard, especially since he was smarter than people would guess. He copied the key, got the down low from a locksmith after greasing his palms with a good Benjamin, and then it was a question of if it was a townhouse or apartment key. Looking up Jackson the, ugh, phonebook gave him lots of results but narrowing it from NYC and then apartment, definitely an apartment key, in Queens, yeah he got it. 

By the time he got down there, he had called in with a 'family emergency' to the nurse's office, called in to leave a message with his dad telling him not to wait up (not that he ever did), and when he found a parking spot a good block and a half away, he triple checked the net to make sure he was in the right ballpark. 

Yup, yep, and yes. This was the place.

He pulled up his collar and tugged down a Mets baseball cap, power-walking up to the door, once to see if they had a buzzer. They did, dammit, but that was a setback easily rectified. One stop at a newsstand, thumbing through an out of date Maxim magazine since the owner kept glaring at him when he didn't look like he was going to buy anything, and by the time he got to the TV star centerfold he saw someone heading up the stoop. 

"Hold the door," he called, taking steps three at a time to jam a foot between the thresholds. The old guy didn't even bother to turn around to make sure the door had closed, just hurried his way to the elevator.

"Asswipe," Sloan muttered under his breath, slipping in to take the stairwell instead. 

This was the nightmarish part, getting to the door and fumbling with his copied key. If the key didn't work, if this was like to a golf-cart, lawnmower, or a sprinkler system or something. But Sally Jackson wasn't rich, and this was NYC where you had to be rich to own potted plants, let alone lawns and tee-time. But what if the key still didn't work and he ended up paying extra to that sketchy-ass locksmith for nothing? What if the key broke in the lock and then they knew someone tried to get in, tried to copy their key and they found out about him and tried him for breaking and entering, B&E as an adult wasn't nothing to sneeze at-


The key fit and the door unlocked, smooth as a fresh fish fillet. Fucking-A.

He crept inside after checking to make sure there weren't any neighbors being nosy snoops, and locked the door behind him. Moment of truth though, to triple-check and make sure this was really the place and he didn't just break into some stranger's bachelor pad. After making sure nobody was napping on the couch or tidying up in the kitchen, he looked for photos on the shelves or on the refrigerator. 

Sure enough, there were plenty of photographs of Sally Jackson and her psychospawn Percy. Playing at the beach, what looked like a trip to the aquarium, mushy stuff he didn't pay attention to, just as long as he was in the right house. Plus, could've been she a Blows-Fish were living together, or worse, he gave her a key to his place. 

No, this looked like it was all Jackson residence. Perfect.

After some quick recon, he got a general layout of the apartment, four rooms, not counting the living room/foyer; kitchen, bathroom, one room that had a lot of blue that he knew had to be Percy's, and slightly bigger bedroom with its own bathroom tucked away and a half-made queen-sized bed. His attention immediately went from rumpled bed to the dresser and drawers alongside the opposite wall.

AKA The (Mother-Fucking) Treasure-Trove.

Quickly, mouth going dry, Sloan rifled through the drawers one by one.

Top left drawer. He did t bother to hold in a bit of victorious, lecherous crowing, holding up some barely-there scrapes of lacy/silky/cotton treasures his fists. Just like he thought, not a pair of granny-panties to be seen or sniffed, Sally Jackson was lady in the streets and freak in the sheets rocking the slutty, sexy underpants beneath those sensible mom-jeans. No blue thong though, he tried not to be too disappointed about that, he had his pick of trophies in the here and the right now. 

No need to get greedy.

'Yet,' he amended, smug smirk tugging at his lips. Panty-sniffing would tide over until he got a shot at that sweet MILF ass. And those tits bouncing in his face.

Speaking of, now was his chance to check out the Sally Jackson collection of bras. First he picked (and he ended up picking out more to feel up) was a delicate sea-foam colored lacy number.

32C. Not bad, not bad at all. 

Fighting the urge to victory dance like a lunatic, Sloan busied himself arranging the underwear to his liking, laying out his favorites on the comforter so he could get the best look. By Sally's bedside, atop some history books and artsy looking coffee-table reads, there was a framed picture of herself at the beach. Wasn't exactly Playboy or even Maxim material, just her sitting on a beach towel in a plain off-white sundress with seahorse patterns, smiling shyly at whoever was holding the camera as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. 

Didn't matter though, she was smiling and looking willing in the picture, and he had his personal favorites out of all her lingerie out on the bed's comforter. 

Smiling, he unzipped his pants and started to stroke himself, standing over the picture and the lingerie. Together like that he had very little problem imagining her wearing it. Hell, his imagination was kicked into overdrive.

Thanks to the picture he was imaging them heading back from the beach, or at least getting off the train from Coney Island. In that sundress a stiff breeze was all it took to just plaster the fabric all across her body when they walked together, sometimes him leading her so he could look back smugly at all the jealous bastards seeing him with a genuine MILF on his arm (and under his thumb) and other times him walking behind her so he could take in the view. Just like he remembered from his long look at her in jeans, Ms. Sally Jackson was working some fine assets... which he couldn't keep his hands off.

"Stop it," she would giggle, playing coy while they were in public, swatting his hands away before they could creep any further up the dress. Still, she bent a little more at the waist while she fiddled with her keys, and he began the game all over again with hands greedily inching up the back of her thighs to rake and bunch the dress further up to her rear. She only let him get as far as the very tops of her thighs, just before he got a glimpse of tantalizing ass-cheeks and enticing panties, before she 'found' the right key and opened the door just enough to duck inside in mock-fright.

"You're not getting away that easy," he'd growl, forcing his way in with his best Jack Nicholson smile. Perfect blend of lecherous and dangerous, kicking the door shut behind him as he cornered her ducking into the kitchen. No escape for her there.

A minute of her kicking off her heels to better try to duck and weave around him, with him not affording no her any mercy, and then she was pinned against the refrigerator with his hands hiking that sundress up around her waist. Not satisfied (but sure as hell getting there) he would hoist her knees up and wrap them around his hips, while biting and tonguing at her collar.

She squirmed, barely getting words out for all the moaning. "Hm... ah, oh cold cold cold!" 

"Feels pretty hot to me..."

"Fridge-" she protested, yelling as he purposefully ground harder into her very hot thighs and forced her barely covered ass against the chilly stainless steel surface. It better be stainless otherwise that squeaking of wet panties on the fridge door would lead to a funny story to tell guests. "Oh God Mattie please-" But he could tell her shivering had to do with more than the cold.

He backed away from the refrigerator though, center of the kitchen, and she insistently, desperately kept her legs tightly wrapped around his waist. "Get off," he commanded, breaking off a greedy and especially sloppy kiss. When her feet were back on the ground he resumed the kissing, with renewed energy to his tongue and his hands, feeling her up, paying special attention to her firm ass and needy, almost dripping wet-with-want pussy. She moaned more appreciatively, but that gave way to muffled protests when he hiked her sundress all the way up around her armpits, showing off smooth stomach and lacy bra to his satisfaction. 

It doesn't take much for her to realize what he wants, just slight pressure to her shoulders and she goes down on her knees easily. Like someone who had plenty of practice. She winced though, as she fumbled with his zipper. 

"I'm getting cold." She punctuated her pleading with a shiver got her breasts bouncy in the bra. If it wasn't for goosebumps popping up around her neck and shoulders he might even think she was playing coy games with him. 

But he knew that wasn't the case, 'cause (in his own head) Sally Jackson was too big a slut for his cock to play-act at being shy. She was just too impatient to get to the real deal, but not today; she'd have to earn it.

"Want me to warm you up?" He teased her, tweaking an earlobe, watching with relish as her nose scrunched in annoyance. 

"Please?" There it was, her begging. Seeing and hearing her beg was the best thing in the world. 

Well, second best. Nothing could compare with actually fucking her.

"You know you gotta get me warmed up first," he reminded, fiddling with but not actually tugging the zipper of his jeans. He needed her to do that herself, to admit defeat. "Show me how much you want it...show me how you'll work for it."

No disguising her want, how much she was dying to get him inside her one way or another. She licked her lips, probably on reflex, and tugged down his zipper with thumb and index finger, grip steady as a surgeon. That same steadiness faltered when she pulled his cock out from his boxers and he had to hide a wince as the sides of little Matt Sloan brushed against the sharp zipper teeth. Then he could see her hands were shaking a bit, stroking his cock and licking her lips slowly.

"See something you like?" He rocked his hips a bit, enjoying the way his dick bounced in place and how her eyes followed the head. Heh, like he was a sorta snake charmer with his magic trouser snake. 

She nodded with a dizzy sort of smile, stroking from tip to shaft down to zipper, looking like she was hypnotized. "I think I see something tasty."

He grinned, putting hands behind the back of his head and stretching pelvis towards her. "You think so?" 

"Mm, well one way to find out." She licked her lips again but this time they were close enough to his cock that she brushed around the head with a very hot and wet tongue. 

Even if he wanted to he couldn't hold back an embarrassingly high pitched moan, thrusting his hips forward towards her face. That got her to giggle, which couldn't have been easy with a surprise mouthful of dick. "Mm..." She popped him out of her mouth with an audible suction-cup smack of her lips, and pink tongue flicked out to catch a drop of near-transparent pre-cum at the slit. "It's not half bad."

"Not half bad? Maybe you just need more." He inched his hips a little closer, almost rocking onto tiptoe. "See if you can get it more than halfway."

"But it's so big," she mewled doubtfully, tugging at the root of his dick, where boxers and zipper of his jeans were pinching uncomfortably. 

"I believe in you and stuff, just get to it."

"What's the magic word?" She snapped loose the button of his jeans, the sudden freedom made his cock feel much better.


"Mmm I'll take it," she hummed with glee. Then she licked her hand, and before he could object to tell her to focus on licking what mattered (specifically him), she gripped as much of his turgid length in her slicked palm and squeezed. 

He moaned his appreciation, rocking on his heels to get some further friction of her grip on his skin, and she stroked his cock intently, looking deep in concentration. No more complaints about how chilly the kitchen was, now slutty sultry Sally was on a mission measuring him up. 

It didn't take her that long, though it sure seemed long to him in his current state of mind, that she got the measure of him just right for her to lean in and take the purplish head of his cock in her mouth.

Such a tight, talented, hot wet mouth she had on her. He groaned, annoyed at how shaky and high-pitched it was getting but not enough to stop enjoying Sally Jackson's expert (clever fucking whore probably had plenty of practice) ministrations. She swirled tongue around his shaft before leaning in to take him deeper down her throat. Soon he felt her chin graze his rapidly tightening balls, an additional and pleasurable friction through his boxers.

Such a tight, talented, hot wet mouth she had on her. He groaned, annoyed at how shaky and high-pitched it was getting but not enough to stop enjoying Sally Jackson's expert (clever fucking whore probably had plenty of practice) ministrations. She swirled tongue around his shaft before leaning in to take him deeper down her throat. Soon he felt her chin graze his rapidly tightening balls, an additional and pleasurable friction through his boxers.

"Oh fucking hell yes," he groaned appreciatively, leaning back on his heels, hands resting behind the back of his head like a boss. 

Encouraged by his praise, Sally Jackson increased her efforts, doubling her speed of swirling her tongue around the head of his cock down to the base of his shaft. Once she got her rhythm down, she took her hands away from his dick to focus on pulling his balls out of his boxers, at one point pausing to press her chin against the sack with a satisfied-sounding hum. Then she reached her hands behind her back for the clasp of her bra, sliding the straps off her shoulders. It was worth Sloan craning his neck to peer down and take in the sight of Sally bobbing back and forth topless with his dick in her mouth. Almost made him wish he could take the time to ditch his jeans and feel how those tits pressed tight on his thighs when she took his whole root up. 

Meh, he'd have another shot to do that later anyway. Slutty Sally the MILF Jackson was addicted to his cock already and hadn't even gotten a proper taste of his Sloan-special sploosh-induce-man-juice. Once she had gotten a swallow of that love formula she'd be hot and bothered whenever he so much as quirked an eyebrow, he was sure of it.

 He just had to make sure to keep a tight grip on her short leash.

"Hey, quit that," he ordered, seeing her right hand slide down into the front of her panties. That was his job after all, she needed to be a good bitch and learn fast.

With him all in her mouth she couldn't muster up a really articulate vocal plea but she sorta whimpered around his cock, fingers sawing in and out of her underwear. The soft, faintly wet sounds she made playing with herself was almost hot enough for him to forgive her.

But not enough. Bitches needed to learn early, after all.

In a show of dominance he placed both of his hands on either side her head, thrusting his cock down her gullet until his balls were slapping almost painfully against her chin. Drool spilled down across her chin lewdly as she was forced to take his entire length over and over again like a good cockslut. 

"Yeah, that's... oh fuck that's it..." 

Soon though he spied her hand dipping back into her underwear again. 

He pulled her off his dick harshly, and reluctantly. "That's mine, you cunt. You don't get to play with it unless I say so, got it?" When she didn't answer, just stared up at him with makeup running like a used whore and drool down her chin like an idiot with a concussion, he pulled her hair back sharply. He liked that a lot, the pained cry she gave and the feel of her hair in his fingers and tits pressed against his thighs. 

"I asked you a question slut. Did you hear me or do you get off on getting punished?"

"Y-yes," she managed to gasp.

"What was that? 'Yes', what? What I asked, did you hear me?"


He tugged her hair again. "So do you want to be punished?"

She looked up, the corners of eyes (and her mouth) watering from the pain. "Yes."

He gave a wide, chipped-tooth grin. Any sort of droop to his hard-on vanished pretty quick at the thought of some real fun tearing that ass up. "That's what I like to hear."

Wrapping her hair around his fist, Matt pulled her up off her knees, relishing the cry of pain and maybe even a bit of excitement she gave out. Oh yeah she wanted it, wanted him, real bad.

Soon as she was on her feet, he pulled her onto his shoulder, hoisted her up in a fireman's carry which was perfect for putting a hand on her ass. Fucking perfect ass, just the right amount of firm bounce and jiggle, nice and wide. Fucking perfect ass that was perfect, just perfect enough for fucking.

Maybe he'd risk rushing things and go for anal. If he felt like it. She was into being treated like a cheap slut anyway.

Wasn't that clear by the way she practically invited him in while her fiancé was out? The way she dressed like such a horny skank under her housewife frump-chic?  She knew what she needed, and exactly what he wanted. She was a grown woman and he was a teenager. If anything she was the predator, she was the fucking deviant, and a pervert like her deserved the hardest reaming his cock could give her ass.

It was a delicious-looking ass. He threw her off his shoulder onto the bed, and as soon as all of her stopped bouncing he flipped her over so he could look at that ass again with the sea-foam green underwear starting to floss up those bootylicious cheeks.

"Fucking hell you got a great ass," he praised breathily, putting both hands up on that prime cut meat and giving her a thorough squeeze.

"Mmm, thank yo-OOH-" she moaned when his thumbs teased the fabric of her panties, tickled her right in the sweet spots. 

Yeah he was definitely going to go have to go for that backdoor VIP entry. If not now than later...

Why wait?

She even came with her own lub. Such a considerate slut.

"You have any idea what you do to me?" He growled, pawing at her thighs, up to finish with slaps on her ass, before grabbing at her hips. "Huh?"

"Do I drive you crazy?" She simpered, wiggling her hips, and she had to know how that made her asscheeks juggle just right. 

"Yea huh..." Matt Sloan looped fingers around the elastic of her panties, dragging them down her legs. She lifted her hips to help him out, incidentally flexing her butt. Someone didn't skip leg day. Or maybe she was into yoga...maybe hot yoga. Though actually he didn't know what made one different from the other, it was all hot to him.

She raised herself up onto her knees and elbows after he whipped the panties down and off her ankles with a flourish. Peered back over her shoulder to see him take a whiff of the damp lace and satin that so ripe with her desire it was overpowering. "You drive me crazy too...I'm so wet, and I feel so empty without you inside me. Don't make me beg because I'll beg. I'll beg for it, gag for that big, hard cock...whatever you need me to do for, or whatever you want to do to me, just fuck me. Fuck me please."

He leaned down and like a weird butt vampire took a bite of that juicy ass, hard enough to leave a mark. His mark, hard enough so that they'd be able to read his fucking dental records off her keister, and if she so much as mooned Mr. Blows-Fish he'd be able to tell she was stepping out on him and offering up that awesome ass for a real man who knew how this slut wanted to be treated. She'd have to make boring missionary love to him under the covers with the lights off for... well for as long as Matt mother-fucking Sloan decided. 

Emboldened he gave another love-bite on the other ass-cheek, getting harder than he thought possible when she gave another pained, anticipatory moan.

Oh yeah, she fucking wanted him. 

He'd oblige, that was the kinda nice guy he was. "Turn over," he demanded, punctuating with another open-palmed booty-smack.

She did of course, with a giggle and flounced onto her back, arching hips to avoid her bruised ass touching the sheets. That made it too fucking easy to slip fingers in the cleft of her thighs, probe her quivering pussy, her tight walls clenching around his fingers begging for the real thing. Her breasts all shaking and nipples hard with anticipation. Anticipation for penetration, from the very best she was ever going to get. The anticipation was definitely the best part... well, definitely second-best.

"I think," he whispered, "that I could really get in the mood if you went on begging."

"I want you," she insisted, begged. "I want you so bad, I'll just die if I don't get some of that thick cock, please, I'll do anything you want, be whatever you want me to be-" 

Her pleading, and the squirming, was definitely doing it for him right now. "Did you like sucking on my cock? You like how that tasted?"

"I loved it, I need it again," the pathetic cougar moaned. "I need you to fuck me until the bed breaks, I need you so deep inside me right... there..." 

Her squirms broke into spasms, and her moans turned into a keening gasp of overwhelming pleasure. With clever fingers spreading her lower lips apart, breathing hot right on her clit, he could see just how moist she was getting, pink walls flushed almost saffron with want. "Wow you really do need it."

"I need you," she insisted breathily, trying to take his fingers in, gyrating her hips as best she could with her legs spread wide like only a professional whore could manage. "Please."

"Prove it," he demanded. "Prove that it's not just any cock that you need nutting up in you, that you're fucking mine when I'm inside you." 

"Whatever you want," she insisted, sweating, hands gripping the comforter, sheets unraveling off the bed with all the fuss she was making.

"Gimme your ring," Sloan demanded. "Now, slut."  

She started, hesititated, whether because of the demand or because of the name-calling, Sloan wasn't sure and didn't care. He forcibly pushed fingers up to the knuckle into her sex, hard enough to hurt, getting her even wetter and louder. She shakily pried the engagement ring off her finger, practically tossing it to Matt's general direction. He caught it, smooth as a player like he could be, and slipped it on his moistened pinkie. 

"I'm your man now. The only man for you." Licking his lips, he arranged himself at her entrance, and thrust into her entirely with an impatient stroke. "And you..." he panted between hammering away at her, "are my... bitch."

"Slut, bitch," Sally gasped, "yes, yes yes, I'm all yours!"

"Get to screaming," Sloan ordered, picking up the pace, feeling himself getting close. He took another wiff of her panties, relishing the scent on the lace and on his fingers, purely her before any jizz got into the mix. With a wicked grin, he shoved the panties into her mouth when her screaming started. They barely were substantial enough to cover her crack, so they didn't do so much muffling, but he got used to seeing her mouth full. It got him, and this was unbelievable, even harder. 

He groaned, thrusting deep and harder, gripping the back of her knees to keep her spread wide for him, but she was still so deliciously tight and hot he knew he'd not be able to hold off much longer. After a particularly vocal scream she gave off through her lacy gag, and tight squeeze her walls gave around his cock, he didn't bother holding off the floodgates, and then came the sploosh-


Matt Sloan gasped, knees buckling, grasping the dresser for support. 

His pants were undone somewhere past his knees, boxers and all, and he was certain he had never cum so hard in his life before this day with Sally Jackson's panties wrapped around his cock, nothing but his spit for lube. 

Well holy shit, the panties he picked out started a soft teal but now that they were filling up with his cum the color was going a dark blue, almost turquoise as they soaked him up. Felt like he emptied both nuts and a half in those cheekie underpants. 

"Damn Sally J..." He'd have to take some of these panties for the road, maybe a bra she wouldn't miss. It wasn't a sustainable system, and he knew this itch wouldn't be scratched by a few more jerk-off sessions but he had to do something. 

First though, he had to hide. Only place to hide was under the bed, there wasn't more time. 

Someone was unlocking the front door of the apartment, right now. 

"Shit shit shit..." 






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