Caught My Neighbor’s Wife Cheating – Sucks Cock and Fucks Me to Keep Secret
“Caught My Neighbor’s Wife Cheating – Sucks Cock and Fucks Me to Keep Secret”
As I was taking out my trash late one sultry summer evening, the most tantalizing sight caught my eye – my neighbor’s redheaded wife, Becky, entertaining a clearly not-her-husband caller. They were locked in a passionate lip-lock at the far end of the driveway. Intrigued, I crept closer, enjoying the view of Becky’s ample assets straining against the thin fabric of her tight summer dress. This was an unexpected twist of fate, and I was determined not to miss the show of a lifetime.
Drawn like a moth to a flame, I edged even closer until I had a perfect vantage point behind a strategically placed azalea bush. The man was someone I’d never seen before – definitely not Becky’s husband, Jack. This man was younger, fitter, and more vivacious. Becky seemed to be drinking him up with her eyes and hands, deftly unbuttoning his shirt to start devouring his tanned, muscular chest. Oh, to be that man’s shirt button at that moment! This was living porn, and I was the secret audience member. The voyeuristic thrill was beyond description.
Becky’s hands began their journey downward, and I could tell from the bulge in the man’s pants that he was greatly appreciating her touch. She deftly unzipped him, and his sizeable package sprang free of its denim restraints, throbbing urgently. Rebecca’s ruby red lips curled in a mischievous grin as she dropped to her knees on the driveway, crunching the gravel painfully. She neither flinched nor cared, focused solely on lavishing that tumescent cock with her wickedly talented tongue.
Her partner threw back his head in ecstasy, gripping her flaming curls with white-knuckled intensity as her mouth enveloped him. I was almost as aroused as her partner, my own cock pounding insistently against my pants zipper. What I would give to trade places with that man at that moment!
But the party was just getting started, and Becky wanted action, not foreplay. She tore off her dress with one sudden move, baring her incredible body for all to see. Okay, for one hidden voyeur. She peeled off the rest of her clothes with deft, impatient maneuvers, revealing inch after stunning inch of creamy flesh.
Rachel’s lover also lost his pants in a blink, revealing his impressive endowment; throbbing and ready for action. He lifted Becky up by the hips and impaled her on his rigid shaft with one powerful thrust. Becky threw her head back, a look of pure bliss streaking across her flushed face. Her Hinney started jiggling in time with his rhythm, mesmerizing in the golden evening light.
The neighbors were silent, of course, but I could only imagine Becky screaming in pleasure as he drilled her vigorously. Her ample tits bounced hypnotically with the force of his thrusts. I had an urge to fondle them, slippery and sweaty with effort. But I stayed still behind my verdant covering, pumping my own cock in easy strokes.
Becky began to shudder and moan, her climax fast approaching. Her lover pistoned into her tunnel with increasing urgency, the wet squelching sounds carrying on the warm breeze. I could almost taste her sugary cream. Suddenly, Becky contracted around him and screamed out her rapture – I heard it from behind my bush barrier. He threaded and climaxed with equal fervor, his seed erupting deep inside Becky’s spasming channel.
They collapsed against his car, gasping and tangled in a sweaty post-coital embrace. As they began to separate and collect their clothes, Becky turned her head my way, an unreadable expression flashing across her face. Had she noticed her little audience? I quickly beat a strategic retreat, fearful of being discovered and unsure how I would react to an intimate confrontation with Becky.
As I settled nerve-soothingly between my own sheets a short while later, my thoughts were in turmoil. Becky was a notorious Part-Time Mrs.; with her husband and I definitely weren’t the only unwitting participating spectators in her offerings of world-class, extracurricular activity. The next day, I took an extra-long walk to cut through Becky’s yard to see what, if any, evidence of her mad encounter remained. A few small pieces of clothing offered mute testament to the wild times. More than satisfied that I had no shameful remorse for penchant for little peeks while on trash duty, I continued my journey with a banked fire smoldering deeply within, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. Living next to a cursed classic like Becky was a regular dose of erotic dynamite. And there was always the chance that the panting paroxysms were extrapolative avowals with a side Helping of guttural exclamations, just for yours truly. Call me picky; I was already in awe. Either way, I assured my accountability to a regular wake-up call that I, along with assorted others, would be kept waiting, tongues lolling and fingers quivering with forbidden opportunity. Because Becky was so much more than a mere distraction and certainly more than just the quintessential neighbor with benefits. She was The Knock-Your-Socks Off Next Door Mistress to one and All.
