Slipping out of the tennis coach’s bungalow, heart still racing from his cum dripping down my thighs. Night air cool on my skin. Barely covered by that silk robe Vanille gave me. Feet silent on the path. My bungalow just steps away, but that weird puddle on my terrace catches my eye again. Sticky, smells musky. Not rain. Someone’s been watching.
Light filters through thin curtains next door. Neighbor’s balcony glows faint yellow. I freeze. Silhouette moves. Tall guy, shadows playing on his chest. He’s shirtless, towel low on hips. Our balconies touch almost, thin wooden partition barely separates. He steps out. Eyes lock. Mine wide, his hungry. Wind whispers. Distant waves crash. No one else around. Resort sleeps.
The Contact
He nods toward his door. Fingers beckon. Pulse hammers. Fuck it. I glance back—dark bungalows, quiet. I hoist over the low rail, robe flapping open. Bare pussy flashes cool air. Land soft on his side. Door creaks open. He pulls me in. Rough hand on my ass. “Saw you at tennis,” he growls low. “Those three hairs. Been jerking to you.” Door clicks shut.
Inside, dim lamp. Bed unmade, sheets tangled. His cock tents the towel. Hard already. I drop robe. Naked, smooth mound gleaming. He groans soft, muffled. Walls paper-thin. Neighbors could hear. “Shh,” I whisper, finger to lips. His mouth crashes mine. Tongue invades. Hands everywhere—tits squeezed, nipples pinched. I grab his cock. Thick, veiny. Pre-cum slicks my palm.
He shoves me to bed. Mattress dips. Springs creak—too loud. I bite lip. Legs spread wide. Pussy lips part, wet from coach’s load mixed with mine. He kneels. Tongue dives in. Slurps my clit. Fingers probe anus, still loose from godemichets. I stifle moan. Hand over mouth. His balls slap my ass as he fingers deep. “So smooth,” he mutters. Light from window slits stripes us. Balcony door ajar—voices? No, just wind.
The Indiscretion
Can’t wait. I pull him up. Guide cock to hole. He thrusts. Fills me raw. No condom. Balls smack my ass—wet slaps echo. I clench PC muscle, Vanille’s trick. He gasps. “Fuck, tight.” Rhythm builds. Hips grind. Pubes tickle my bare clit. Every push, balls crush perineum. I arch. Fingers dig nails in his back. Bed frame thumps wall. Thud-thud. Freeze. Listen. Snore from next bungalow? Heart pounds.
He flips me doggy. Face to window. Curtains sheer—shadows outside? He pounds harder. Cockhead hits cervix. G-spot swells. I rub clit frantic. Juice squirts, soaks sheets. Muffled grunts. His hand clamps my mouth. “Quiet, slut.” I buck back. Ass cheeks ripple. Anus winks. He spits, fingers it. Double stuffed. Ecstasy builds. Waves crash louder, cover our slaps.
He swells. “Gonna cum.” I nod. Floods me—hot jets paint walls inside. Triggers mine. Pussy spasms, milks him dry. Legs shake. Collapse. Sweat slick. He pulls out. Cum oozes, plops on floor.
Catch breath. Minutes tick. He whispers, “Come back tomorrow.” I nod, robe on. Slip to balcony. Hoist over rail—wood scrapes thigh. Land in puddle. Mine now. Dash inside. Door shuts soft. Heart thuds chest. Stairs creak—footsteps? Freeze. Woman of the house passes, hums. Doesn’t look. Lock door. Bed wet again. Fingers dip in fresh creampie. Taste us. Secret safe. Neighborhood sleeps. Grin in dark.