“You can come over, have your way with me and my husband would never even notice.”
It was late 1999, and that message had just popped up on my screen. I was talking, and semi-flirting, with a neighbor on AOL chat at the time. She was a member of the group of neighborhood ladies that took it upon themselves to drag me out bar-hopping on a regular basis after my divorce. We had lived in the same complex for over 3 years, so, I had known her for quite a bit of time and was well aware of her penchant for being somewhat promiscuous. However, beyond the occasional, casual flirtation, there had never been anything truly “line-crossing” between us.
“You’re out of your mind,” I typed back, and waited for her response.
“No, I’m serious,” she replied back, almost instantly. “He doesn’t pay attention to what’s going on around him, and besides, he’s downstairs watching NASCAR. He’ll be out of touch for a long while. Trust me.”
“Look, I’ll come over and take a look at your computer like you asked, but, I think I will draw the line at that. OK?”
“Ok, fine,” she replied. “See you in a few minutes.”
It had started out innocent enough, and I had planned on sticking to my guns, but she made that extremely difficult for me. To begin with, she had conveniently not put on her bra and was wearing a t-shirt that was just tight enough to tickle her nipples until they stood out rock hard. As if that wasn’t bad enough, when she sat down across from me, her loose fitting shorts made it quite obvious that she had decided to forgo her panties as well.
So, that was how I ended up in her bedroom on that chilly afternoon, with her husband downstairs watching NASCAR, while she sat spread-legged on my lap with my hand up her shorts. I know that I should have felt bad about it, but I didn’t. Truth is, I never liked her husband that much anyway, and besides, I had a feeling he knew what his wife was up to in the room right above him anyway.
I didn’t hesitate in the slightest, or even think about taking it slow and easy. That wasn’t what she wanted, or needed, at the time. Instead, upon finding her already sopping wet, I just thrust three fingers deep into her in one go, stifling her moan with mouth at the same time. My fingers slipped between her folds with ease and slid all the way in to my knuckles.
Gripping her by her ponytail, I let her bury her face into my neck as I cradled her in my lap. She spread her legs even wider, allowing me even better access to that sweet spot between her legs. I could feel her wrapped around my long digits. Her wetness coating my fingers and palm as I thrust forcefully in and out of her depths, pausing every so often to allow my thumb to twiddle her clit and add to the sensation.
I’m not sure how long I held her that way, thrusting into her, and feeling her tremble in my arms. I just went with it while her hand busily explored my body, finally sliding into my jeans so that she could squeeze and stroke my engorged, thick shaft. Before long, her legs clamped together, holding me in place while her walls gripped my fingers. She bit down onto me, attempting to stifle her cries, as she rode the wave of pleasure that was obviously wracking her slender frame.
And…just like that, it was over… we straightened up, cleaned up a bit and made our way downstairs. A little later, I found my way back to my house and there was a message flashing on my screen…
“Thank you,” was all that it said.
© AC Elliott, 23-Apr-18