The backyard gate creaked softly in the afternoon hush. Our houses shared this narrow strip of grass, hedges tall enough to hide us from the street, but voices carried to the other neighbors’ windows. Anne-Claire slipped through, her long gray skirt brushing leaves. Eyes wide, cheeks pink. She whispered, “Chris, I couldn’t wait. My pussy aches for your cock. Husband’s gone all day.” I pulled her close. Our breaths mixed hot. The shared wall loomed behind my fence, just ten feet away. His house silent, but anyone could peek over. I nodded to my back door. “Inside. Quiet.” Her hand trembled in mine. We crossed the yard, floorboards groaning underfoot as we entered my kitchen. Door clicked shut. Light filtered through blinds, stripes on her wool sweater hugging those full tits. She glanced back, heart pounding visible in her throat. “What if he comes home early?” I pressed against her, hard cock bulging pants. “Then he’ll hear you moan.” Her lips parted. Decision made. We tiptoed down the hall, past windows facing the street. Parquet cracked faintly. Neighbors’ cars parked close. One wrong noise, and curtains twitch.
Her sweater hit the floor first. Lace bra blue, the one I gifted. Tits spilling over, nipples hard peaks. Skirt hiked up. No panties. Bare pussy glistened, lips swollen from her morning fingering. “Fuck me here,” she hissed, back to the wall separating our homes. Thin plaster. His study on the other side. I yanked pants down. Cock sprang free, thick vein pulsing. She grabbed it, stroked rough. “So big. Bigger than his ever was.” I shoved her thighs apart. Fingers plunged into wet slit. Slurping sounds echoed soft. She bit her lip bloody. “Shh,” I growled, thumb circling clit. Her hips bucked. Juices dripped down stockings. Jarretelles snapped taut. I spun her. Face to wall. Skirt bunched waist. Ass cheeks pale, perfect. Cockhead nudged her folds. One thrust. Buried balls-deep. Pussy clenched like a vice, hot and sopping. She gasped, muffled in my palm. Walls creaked with each pump. Bedframe next door? No, but his footsteps could thunder any second. I fucked harder. Slaps wet, flesh on flesh. “Your married cunt loves this,” I whispered. She nodded frantic. “Yes, ruin it. Breed me next door.” Tits mashed wall. Nipples scraping paint? Sweat beaded. Her hand snaked back, fondled my balls. Tightening. I hammered. Guttural grunts escaped her. Light under blinds flickered—car passing? Neighbors walking dogs? Pussy spasmed. She came first, thighs quaking, squirt soaking my thighs. Silent scream into shoulder. I pulled out. Spun her. Forced to knees. “Suck.” Mouth engulfed cock, tongue swirling cum-taste of her. Gagging quiet. Then up. Bent over table. Re-entered savage. Table scraped floor. Inches from window. Curtain gap showed street. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Balls slapped ass. She clawed wood. “Cum inside. Mark me.” I exploded. Ropes of hot jizz flooding womb. Pulled out midway. Last spurts on ass, dripping down crack. We panted. Bodies slick. Ears strained for doors slamming outside.
The Contact
She straightened skirt, cum leaking down thighs. No wipe. “Keeps me full.” Kissed deep, tongues sloppy. I peeked window. Street empty. She cracked back door. Yard silent. Gate latch whispered. She vanished into bushes. Heart hammering mine. Hers too—I saw the bounce. Crossed our yards, skirt stained dark. His front door loomed. Key turned soft. Inside, parquet sighed under her steps. I watched from blinds. No one stirred. Neighbors’ lights off, afternoon naps. Secret safe. But walls remembered. Her pussy throbbed with my load. Tomorrow? Riskier.