I fucked The Neighbor on my balcony last night.
It was after watching a silly movie. After he pet my head and smacked my ass to ensure I hadn’t fallen asleep. After he’d filled his mouth with my vanilla breast. After he’d put my hand on his straining, slippery fabric-covered cock. After my lips gratefully wrapped around his heat and after his fingers made me cum and spill my waters on the sofa.
Long, deep, hard and soft he slammed into me. Our joining made soft slapping noises for our neighbors to hear if they cared to listen. My whimpers and moans never masked by the crickets.
I hung on desperately to the railing and hung my head. I could see his basketball shorts pooled at his ankles; my skirt was hiked up on my waist and my breasts lapped against iron.
I came again and a squishing noise joined the symphony of his groans, my whimpers, and the dancing crickets.
He smacked my ass as if to urge his mare on faster. A lazy backhand here, then there.
Then he was done and slowly pulled out. I knew he wouldn’t cum. We couldn’t get the leverage he needed; perhaps he was distracted. My guess is he jerked off before coming over — lord knows I tried to block a possible fuck between us by putting Peyton to sleep in my bed.
But once again, there we were: joined like helpless dragonflies.
And then we cuddled on the couch and talked for a while before he headed out.
Another hug and a kiss on the cheek from me. He finds these new hugs hilarious. I delight in defining the boundaries; I hug all my friends goodbye, why not him, too?
So tonight, after he came by to talk, and I lifted his visibly down mood, I sit on my dirty little balcony once again loving life and the world, my baby and myself.
I feel motherfucking good. Good..
Such a nice thing.