Backyard shadows stretch long under the midnight moon. Everyone’s asleep. Houses packed tight in this shitty suburb. My cock throbs from those emails, her rage turning me on. I sneak over the low fence. Appentis looms dark, cluttered shelves. Hear rustling inside. Heart hammers. Push the creaky door. She’s there. Annick. Kneeling, grabbing her notebook from under that rusty basket. Flashlight beam catches her twisted face. She freezes. Eyes wide, piggish as she calls them. Ugly scar pulls her mouth wrong. But fuck, she’s mine.
‘You,’ she hisses. Voice low, venomous. Stands fast. Notebook clutched to her chest like a shield. ‘Bastard who read my filth.’ Steps close. Smell her—sweat, cheap soap, wet pussy from her dirty thoughts. I grab her wrist. ‘I love you, Annick. All of you.’ She slaps me. Hard. But doesn’t pull away. Breathing ragged. ‘Liar. Monster fucker.’ Her free hand fists my shirt. Pulls me in. Lips crash. Bitter, desperate. Tongue invasive. We stumble against shelves. Cans rattle softly. Fuck, too loud. Neighbors’ windows dark, but lights could flick on.
The Contact
Door barely shut. Her skirt hikes easy. No panties. Dripping slit greets my fingers. ‘Knew it,’ I whisper. ‘You crave this. Like in your diary.’ She moans into my neck. Bites to muffle. ‘Shut up. Fuck me quick.’ Unzips me rough. Cock springs out, veiny, leaking pre-cum. She strokes hard. ‘Bigger than brother’s,’ she mutters. Guides it to her gash. No rubber. Raw need. I thrust in. Tight, sloppy from her solo wrecking. She gasps sharp. Clamps hand over mouth. Parquet—wait, shed boards—groan under us. Thrusts short, brutal. Her ass cheeks clap soft against me. ‘Quiet, slut,’ I growl. Risk electric. Philippe’s room twenty feet away. Mom could wake.
The Indiscretion
Bend her over old crates. Face down in dust. Ugly mug hidden. Pound deeper. Balls slap her clit. She whimpers, ‘Yes, use your monster.’ Pussy clenches. Juices squelch loud in silence. Sweat drips. Moonlight slits through cracks, stripes her pale skin. Hear distant dog bark. Freeze a second. Then harder. She bucks back. Nails dig wood. ‘Cum in me,’ she begs, voice choked. I do. Flood her. Hot spurts. Legs shake. Pull out slow. Cum oozes down thigh. She slumps. Pants heavy.
Wipe cock on her skirt. Kiss her scarred cheek. ‘Our secret.’ She nods, eyes glassy. Slip out first. Fence scrapes jeans. Heart thuds wild. Cross yard quiet. Stairs creak soft. Almost bump Philippe in hall—nah, empty. Lock my door. Collapse on bed. Culotte still smells of her. Cock twitches again. Neighborhood sleeps. We transgressed right next door. Fuck, the rush.