Waist-High Fence, Heatwave Night

On the hottest night of the summer, $name1 strips off in her garden for the neighbour next door, and he is over the fence before she has finished.

The fence between their gardens was only waist high, and on the hottest night of the summer $name1 stopped pretending it hid anything.

It was the ninth night of the heatwave, and the whole of Larch Close was awake and sweating. Windows hung open. Televisions murmured behind them. Somewhere a sprinkler ticked round and round, even though the hosepipe ban was a week old.

$name1 stood at the bottom of her back garden at half past ten, barefoot on warm paving, in a thin white slip that stuck to her skin. She was twenty-eight and she had not slept properly in days. Her flat upstairs was an oven, so she had dragged a bucket of ice water and a towel outside, and now she was holding the cold flannel against the back of her neck and letting it drip down between her shoulder blades.

Next door, a light was on over the patio. Daniel had moved in six weeks ago. He was thirty-four, tall, broad through the shoulders, with a habit of mowing his lawn shirtless on Sunday mornings that she had definitely never watched from the kitchen window.

Tonight he was sitting at his garden table with a beer, his feet up on the second chair. He had seen her. She knew he had seen her, because he had gone very still.

“Hot enough for you?” he called across the fence.

“I think I am actually melting,” she said, and wrung the flannel out over her collarbone. Water ran in a line down her chest and soaked the front of the slip until the shape of her nipples showed dark and hard through the cotton.

Daniel did not say anything. His eyes dropped, and stayed there.

A small, warm, wicked feeling opened up low in her belly. She should have turned away. Instead she lifted the bucket and tipped a cupful of ice water over her own shoulders, and gasped out loud when it hit.

“Careful,” he said, and his voice had gone rough. “You will give the whole street a show.”

“The whole street is inside with the fans on.” She looked straight at him. “Is it a show?”

He put his beer down very slowly. “It is the best one I have seen in years.”

That should have been the end of it. But her heart was pounding, and her thighs had started to tingle, and the idea of being watched, really watched, from twenty feet away in the dark, was a drug she had never let herself taste.

So she hooked her thumbs under the straps of the slip and let them slide off her shoulders.

The cotton held for one second, caught on her nipples. Then it dropped, and the slip pooled around her waist, and her breasts were bare to the night air and to him. Her nipples tightened at once, tight little points, and she cupped one breast and squeezed it, thumb dragging across the nipple, and watched his face.

Daniel stood up. His chair scraped. He walked to the fence and gripped the top rail with both hands, and she could see the bulge in his shorts from where she stood.

“Take it all off,” he said quietly.

“Anyone could see,” she whispered.

“Then let them.”

She pushed the slip over her hips and let it fall. She wore nothing under it. She stood naked in her garden with the warm night on her skin and the cold water still trickling down her thighs, and she had never felt so alive.

“God,” Daniel breathed. “Look at you. Turn around.”

She turned slowly, a full circle, then another, and on the second pass she bent from the waist to pick up the flannel, and she knew exactly what he could see. Her bare arse, high and round. The wet, swollen heat between her legs. She heard him swear under his breath.

She straightened and faced him again, and this time she let her hand slide down her stomach and between her thighs. She was drenched, and not from the ice water. Two fingers slipped through her folds and she moaned, low, unashamed.

“That is it,” he said hoarsely. “Touch your pussy for me. Show me how wet you are.”

She did. She stood at the end of her garden with her legs apart and rubbed slow circles over her clit while the neighbour she barely knew watched with his knuckles white on the fence. She pushed two fingers inside herself and held them up, glistening in the patio light, and he groaned like it hurt.

“I want to taste that,” he said.

“Then come over here,” she said, panting. “The gate is not locked.”

He was through it in seconds. The latch banged, and then he was on her side of the fence, crossing the grass in long strides, and she had just enough time to see the hunger in his face before his hands were on her waist and his mouth crashed down on hers.

He kissed her like he had been starving for six weeks. His tongue pushed into her mouth and she moaned into it, clawing at his T-shirt, dragging it up and off so she could press her naked, wet body against his hot chest. His hands went to her arse and squeezed hard, pulling her up against the thick hard length straining inside his shorts.

“You are a filthy girl,” he muttered against her throat. “Standing out here like this.”

“You loved it.”

“I loved it.” He bit her neck. “I am going to ruin you for it.”

He backed her up against the garden table where she had left her book and her glass, swept them aside, and lifted her onto the edge. The wood was still warm from the day. He pushed her knees apart, dropped to his own, and looked up at her with a grin that made her clench.

“Hold on to something.”

His mouth landed on her pussy and she cried out. He licked her from her entrance up to her clit in one long, flat, greedy stroke, then did it again, then circled her swollen little nub with the tip of his tongue until her hips jerked off the table. He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and buried his face between them, growling, lapping up every drop, thrusting his tongue deep inside her.

“Oh fuck, Daniel, oh God, do not stop.”

“Not a chance.” His voice was muffled and wet. He slid two thick fingers into her and curled them against the spot that made her see white, sucking her clit between his lips at the same time.

She came fast and hard, grabbing his hair, her thighs clamping around his head, a raw cry tearing out of her into the dark. She did not care who heard. Somewhere across the close a dog started barking, and she laughed breathlessly through the aftershocks.

Daniel stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He shoved his shorts down and his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, the head already shining. She stared at it, mouth watering.

“Get on your knees,” he said, and then, hearing himself, “Please.”

“Since you asked nicely.”

She slid off the table onto the cool grass and took him in her hand. He was hot and heavy and hard as iron. She licked a slow circle around the head, tasting salt, and he hissed. Then she opened wide and took him into her mouth, sucking, her tongue working along the underside as she went down as far as she could manage.

“Fuck. Fuck, that mouth. Look at me.”

She looked up at him, eyes watering, lips stretched around his cock, and he groaned and fisted her hair. She bobbed her head, spit running down her chin, one hand pumping what she could not reach, the other sliding between her own legs again because she was desperate to be filled.

“Enough,” he said at last, pulling her off with a wet pop. “I am not coming in your mouth tonight. I want that pussy.”

He turned her round and bent her over the end of the sun lounger, her palms flat on the plastic cushion, her arse thrust up in the air. He ran the head of his cock through her wetness, slapping it against her clit, making her shake.

“Say you want it.”

“I want it. Daniel, please, fuck me, I need your cock.”

He drove into her in one deep thrust.

She screamed into the cushion. He filled her completely, stretching her, so thick she felt every inch of him pulse inside her. He held there, buried to the hilt, groaning, and then he pulled out almost all the way and slammed back in.

“That is it,” he panted. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He fucked her hard, hands locked on her hips, the slap of skin loud in the still night. Sweat ran down her spine. The lounger creaked under them. Every stroke hit that perfect place deep inside, and she pushed back to meet him, mindless, babbling filth into the cushion.

“Harder. Fuck me harder. Let them hear.”

“Dirty girl.” He slapped her arse, a sharp crack, and she shrieked and clenched around him. “You like that? You like being a dirty little show-off?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

He slapped her again, the other cheek, and then wound her hair around his fist and pulled her head back, driving into her at a punishing pace. She felt the orgasm gathering again, a hot coil tightening low in her belly.

“I am going to come,” she gasped. “Do not stop, do not stop, oh my God.”

“Come on my cock. Do it. Come for me.”

She shattered. Her pussy clamped down and rippled around him, and he swore and thrust harder, chasing it, his rhythm breaking.

He pulled out, flipped her over onto her back on the lounger and shoved her knees up to her chest. She reached down to guide him back inside and he slid into her again, deeper this way, his eyes locked on hers.

“Fill me up,” she whispered. “I want to feel you come.”

“Fuck.” His hips snapped faster. His forehead dropped to hers, breath ragged. “You feel unreal. I am going to come inside you, $name1. Is that what you want?”

“Yes. Yes, come in me.”

He thrust once more, buried deep, and a shudder wracked his whole body. He groaned her name and she felt him pulse, hot, flooding her in long surges. The feeling tipped her over a third time, and she wrapped her legs around him and held him in as she came apart again, shaking.

They lay tangled on the lounger for a long time, slick with sweat, as the night settled around them. Somewhere the sprinkler was still ticking.

“Well,” Daniel said eventually, lips against her shoulder. “I think I owe you a hosepipe ban apology.”

She laughed, helpless, and kissed him.

When they finally untangled, he carried her naked across the grass, through the gate in the fence and into his house, where the air was cool and the bed was huge.

“You could have said you had air conditioning,” she murmured against his neck.

“And miss that show?” he said.

The back door closed behind them. The garden was left silent and empty, the fence between the two houses finally forgotten, with a book and a glass and a white slip lying in the grass to prove that something had happened there.