Late night. Balcony cold under my feet. Forgot the damn laundry. April chill bites. Across the narrow gap, her house glows. Kitchen light on again. But bedroom blinds slatted open just enough. Moonbeam slices through wooden persiennes. Shadows move inside. Her silhouette first. Short baby-doll nightie. Barely covers that golden bush, heavy tits swinging free. Fuck, Corine. Alone? No. Man behind her. Tall, urgent. Pats her ass. Pushes her to bed. She stumbles. Legs dangle. Nightie rides up. Flat belly exposed. Pussy lips peek. My cock twitches. Heart hammers. Neighbors asleep. TVs off. Risky as hell. But I lean closer. Rail creaks softly. Peek through gap. They argue. Whispers sharp. ‘Not just to fuck me.’ His voice low, gravelly. ‘Missed you.’ Bullshit, she snaps. Something about danger. Old shit. Fifteen years. Negro guy? Muffled. He strips fast. Clothes hit floor. Cock hard, ready. She eyes it. Defiant on elbows. He shoves. Mounts her.
Bed creaks. Springs groan under weight. She gasps. ‘Stop, you bastard.’ But legs part. His hand dives between thighs. Fingers probe wet slit. Slurps echo faint through glass. I grip rail. Cock strains pants. Stroke slow. Quiet. Don’t wake Berthe. He dives on tits. Right one first. Sucks hard. Half the globe in mouth. No joke. Pulls, slurps loud. Pinches left nipple. Twists. She squeals high. Bird-like. Muffled by walls. But I hear. Fuck, her nipples swell. Pink, raw. He switches. Same assault. Left tit vacuumed. Right pinched long. She bucks. Orgasme building. Pussy glistens in moon. But he quits. Impatient. Climbs on. Cock spears missionary. Urgent thrust. Balls slap. Her cries sharp. ‘Don’t stop.’ His grunts animal. Bed thuds rhythm. Walls thin. Whole street could wake. I unzip. Fist my meat. Stroke frantic. Match their pace. She moans fade. Disappointed sighs. ‘You’re done. Get off.’ He flops out. Softens. Argue more. ‘The other coming?’ Her laugh cruel. ‘She’ll make me cum, her.’ Female lover? Dirty bitch. He storms to kitchen. Door slams soft. She follows. Light shifts.
The Balcony Glance
Kitchen now. Voices hiss. He wants something. She mocks. ‘Go wait.’ I creep down. Back stairs quiet. Cross street shadows. Heart pounds. Alley to her courtyard. Sentier dark. Like he used. Peek kitchen window. Frosted half, clear top. See them. Close. Too close. She enters. Nightie askew. Tits bruised pink. He grabs. Angry kiss. Hands rough. Pins her to table. Legs spread. No foreplay. Cock hard again? She knees him. ‘Sick of your shit.’ Pushes away. He pleads. She sighs. Drops to knees? No. Turns him. Handjob furious? Shadows blur. My strokes faster. Cum builds. They freeze. Hear? Footstep? I duck. Breath held. Nothing. Stroke explodes. Hot ropes on wall. Bite lip silent. They resume? Door bangs. He leaves? Back way. She’s alone. Light stays on.
Sneak back. Alley pitch. Street empty. Balcony up. Laundry grabbed. Inside. Door clicks soft. Heart thuds chest. Cock sticky. Replay burns. Her tits sucked raw. Pussy flashed. Fucked half-assed. That ‘she’ lover coming. Fuck. Neighborhood sleeps. Secret mine. Cross Berthe tomorrow? Act normal. But I know. Light burned all night. She dead now? No. Just fucked. Risky bliss. Never tell.