He stood on the step in a hoodie and joggers, already breathing like he’d run the twelve feet between the houses.
The knock came at the back door just after nine.
$name1 knew that knock. Next door’s lad — eighteen, home from college for the week, the one who’d been looking at $name1 over the fence all summer like he was waiting for permission. $name1 opened it in a T-shirt and nothing else. Glasses on. Dark hair tied up off her neck. He stood on the step in a hoodie and joggers, already breathing like he’d run the twelve feet between the houses.
$name1 didn’t ask what he wanted.
$name1 stepped aside. He came in. $name1 shut the door, put $name1’s back to it, and dropped to her knees on the kitchen tiles. $name1 pulled the joggers down. He was already hard — thick, young, heavy in $name1’s hand. $name1 took him into her mouth and sucked him properly. Wet. Messy. $name1 tried to take more than $name1 could and gagged, spit running down the shaft onto $name1’s fist, glasses looking up at him the whole time. He swore under his breath and put his hand in $name1’s hair. $name1 let him fuck $name1’s mouth in short, eager strokes until his thighs started to shake, then $name1 pulled off and stood.
$name1 walked him through to the living room.
$name1 lay back on the sofa, T-shirt up over $name1’s heavy tits, thick thighs open, and pulled him down between them. He shoved into $name1 in one go — too eager, too deep — and $name1’s mouth opened on the stretch of him. He started fucking $name1 in clumsy, hungry missionary, the sofa springs complaining, his hoodie still on. $name1 hooked $name1’s knees wider and told him harder. He listened. He slammed into $name1, wet slaps filling the room, one hand on the back of the sofa, the other on $name1’s tit. $name1 came first, clenching around him, a broken sound, glasses crooked. He nearly followed her and had to freeze, buried in $name1, panting against $name1’s neck like he was eighteen and had never had to last through someone coming on his cock.
$name1 didn’t give him the pause.
$name1 rolled him, sat down on him, and rode him with $name1’s hands on his chest, T-shirt still rucked, tits moving, the wet filthy sound of $name1’s cunt on him louder than the TV they’d never turned on. He grabbed $name1’s hips and thrust up into her. $name1 came again sitting on him, shaking, dripping down his shaft onto the sofa cushion. He flipped $name1 onto her back again, folded one of $name1’s knees up, and fucked $name1 through it in long, hard strokes until he broke — drove in, groaned, and pumped into $name1 in hot pulses, filling her, eighteen and shaking apart inside a woman he’d watched over a fence.
He pulled out.
$name1 stayed on her back on the sofa, T-shirt around $name1’s ribs, thighs still open, his cum already running out of $name1 onto the cushion in a thick line. He stood over $name1 with the joggers at his thighs, looking at what he’d left. $name1 didn’t close $name1’s legs. $name1 looked at him over $name1’s glasses and let it drip.