by Whitley Cox
“I want to be on top,” she whimpered, lifting her hips up to meet him, which allowed her to take him deeper.
Fuck, he wanted that too.
“Hell, yes,” he grunted, wrapping his arm under and around her back, intertwining their legs and then rocking them side to side across the bed so that she was now on top, but they never disconnected. “Sit up and let me watch those fuckable tits bounce,” he encouraged, reaching behind him to better prop the pillows behind his head.
Grinning, she acquiesced to his request and perched atop his waist. He slid deeper into her tight, slick channel. She squeezed around him, and he had to chomp down hard on the inside of his cheek not to come.
With her hands on his chest for stability, she began to bob up and down, taking him all the way to the base, then back out to the tip, giving a little hip swirl and a squeeze when there was nothing but his pulsing crown left inside her. Was she trying to kill him? Because he was definitely seeing a bright light and hearing some angels sing.
He reached up and tugged on her nipples, pinching them both and twisting, which caused her green eyes to flare. Then her lids dropped back down to half-mast. A gush of warm liquid poured over his balls.
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, throwing her own earlier demands back at her. “Let’s get you there together.”
Heat and need flickered in her eyes as she nodded, letting her hand drift down her torso and between her legs.
“You’re so fucking wet, babe. Pouring that honey all over my balls.”
Her cheeks pinked up in a seriously sexy way just as two of her fingers began rubbing rough circles over her clit.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Eva. The wetter the woman, the better. Means I’m doing my job right.” He tugged again on her nipples, and her mouth opened, her chin tilted toward the ceiling, and she began to lift and drop her hips faster and harder. “That’s right, baby. So fucking beautiful. God, Eva, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh God,” she whispered, her fingers working double-time now, her tits jiggling in his palms with each hard thud of her hips. “So fucking close.”
“Yeah, you are.” He reared up and latched onto one of her hard peaks, sucking until he felt her still, gasp, and then begin to shudder. His teeth scraped across her chest to the other breast as she continued to come, her pants and whimpers only seeming to grow rather than ebb. Her hand between them was still going berserk.
Was this just one long orgasm, or was she having multiples and they were just rolling into each other?
He released one of her breasts and reached behind her, dipping his finger enough to gather some of her wetness, then he trailed that slippery finger up her crease, pausing over her tight rosette. It puckered beneath his touch, so he didn’t push, but the way her cries of delight increased told him she wasn’t hating where he was right now.
Slowly, her body grew lax against his, and her breathing became less ragged. Her whimpers were more like kittenish mewls, and her skin held a mist of perspiration.
“Wow!” she whispered, glancing down at him with glassy—almost mystified—eyes.
He reclined back into the pillows. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah. That was like four back to back to back to back. I wasn’t sure they’d ever end.”
“We make a good team.”
Red now replaced the pink in her cheeks. “We do.”
“I think there’s a puddle beneath my ass,” he joked. “And my balls are soaked.”
Her mouth opened, but before she could say anything, he took that as an invitation and grabbed her by the nipples and pulled her down to him, once again taking her mouth like he owned it. Because tonight, he kind of did.
After a few minutes of sucking on her tongue, he broke the kiss, cupping her cheek. “You can say no, and we can just finish this way if you’d prefer.”
Her round mounds pressed into his chest, and when he glanced down between them, the sight of her cleavage made his cock jerk inside her.
Any part of her she allowed him, he’d take as a gift, but God how he hoped she’d let him fuck her tits.
He’d always been a tit man. Would always be a tit man. And this woman had tits for days. Probably the best rack he’d ever seen, ever tasted, ever … everything.
With the grace of a gazelle, she swung her leg over his waist until she was perched on her knees on the bed next to him, then she made to remove the condom.
Fuck, yes!
He helped her relieve him of the latex cock sock, then reached for a tissue from the box on the nightstand.
“I … I’ve never done this before,” she said, grabbing both breasts in her palms and mashing them together. “Do you lie down or do I lie down?”
He twisted his lips in thought for a moment. It’d been so long since he’d tit-fucked anybody, what was the best way to do it?
He tapped his chin, then pulled at his still-damp beard. “Let’s have me stay like this, and you sort of hover over me from the side there, smoosh your tits together just like that and then slide my dick between them.”
“Lube?” she asked, getting into position.
He nodded. “You’ve got plenty.” Then he dipped his fingers behind her and drew out her wetness, slathering it over his raging hard cock and then some between her breasts.
Licking her lips, she hunkered down and did as he’d described, sliding his dick between the ripe melons of perfection, her nipples once again diamond-hard, the areolas dark and dusky and beautifully puckered. He groaned before he could stop himself, and his hips lurched up off the bed.
“Fuck, yeah.” He gritted his teeth, determined not to blow his load too soon. “Oh, God, baby, yeah, just like that.”
Up and down she worked her compressed breasts, taking his full length. Her tits were so big that at one point, his cock was completely hidden, only for the shiny crown to emerge out the top, and then the naked vixen dipped her head and fucking lapped up the precum from the tip.
He was so fucking close.
Her ass was up in the air now, her body hunched over his waist, her stomach muscles tight as she used both her hands to keep her breasts pressed together. He had the absolute perfect view of her plump, glistening pussy lips and tight, hairless rosette.
With his fingers, he gathered her wetness and slipped back into her channel, fucking her with two fingers while pressing against her anus with his thumb. She churned and moaned as he felt her quiver around him.
“Fuck, Eva, you have no idea how amazing this feels.”
Between the image of his dick sliding between her tits, his fingers disappearing into her cleft and her anus loosening and tightening with each press of his thumb, he was going to shoot his load like a fucking rocket any second.
“A bit faster, baby,” he murmured, curling his fingers inside her pussy. She squeezed around him.
She picked up speed, fucking him quicker with her tits, the soft, cushiony velvet of them surrounding his cock feeling amazing. He fucked her pussy harder and faster with his fingers, mimicking her speed.
“Oh God, Scott … ” She moaned, her cadence faltering just a bit.
“Gonna come, Eva,” he grunted, the need to shut his eyes and let the sensations take over at an all-out war with his desire to watch himself come all over her chest.
“Me too,” she mewled.
He pressed a bit harder against her asshole with his thumb and on her G-spot with his fingers, and the woman detonated around him, her body shaking from the release as she continued to fuck him with her tits.
The squeezing of her walls around his fingers, the pouring of her sweet honey over his palm and the fact that when she came, she loosened enough for him to slip his thumb inside sent him over the edge.
And just like a rocket, he blasted off all over Eva’s chest. His body stilled as the orgasm ripped through him from the center outward. Every thick, ropy spurt that landed across her bodacious mounds made him come just all the harder. She was on the way down f
rom her own orgasm and hovered there in awe, her mouth open, eyes wide, watching as he covered her chest and neck in his hot, white seed.
But she didn’t look the least bit disgusted.
In fact, she looked the opposite. Intrigued. Turned on. Excited.
Scott had never believed in love at first sight. That shit was garbage. But after the way Eva had just let him fuck her tits, and based on the way she was looking at him now, he was beginning to think that love at first tit-fuck was actually plausible.
5
Six weeks later …
The most obnoxious sound of vehicles beeping and backing up, men hollering and large truck doors slamming interrupted and then subsequently drowned out the pleasant chirp and warble of the robin just outside Scott’s bedroom window.
What the fuck?
It was goddamn Sunday morning. Who the fuck was waking up the birds, let alone the neighbors?
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shoved his feet into his black, thick-soled slippers.
Yeah, men could wear slippers and still be manly. The hardwood and tile in his house hurt his back otherwise. He was old, but he was still manly.
Scratching his balls and wrinkling his nose at his deflating half-chub, he wandered over to his bedroom window and opened the blinds.
The new neighbor next door was finally moving in and appeared to be a hoarder, based on how much shit was being carted out of the massive moving truck.
Big, burly men with hams for arms and pot roasts for legs stalked up and down the ramp, in and out of the truck, unloading box after box. It seemed to be endless. His boredom won out first, and he let the drapes slide closed again as he scratched his ass and headed for the shower.
It’d been a particularly late poker night at his brother Liam’s last night, and Scott had enjoyed himself a fair few whiskeys. Now his frontal lobe was paying for it, reminding him that he was not in fact a twenty-something bar stud who could down a forty and not feel it the next day but instead was a thirty-nine-year-old man with gray in his hair, his beard, his pubes, with a bad back and a preference for going to bed at a reasonable hour.
What was wrong with lights out at ten thirty? A perfectly respectable time to call it a night while getting a solid eight hours and waking up in time to enjoy the best part of the morning.
He opened the sliding glass door to the shower and turned on the water, leaving his hand beneath the spray until it turned warm, then he stepped inside.
He scrubbed his hand down his face and tilted his chin up so the water pelted him directly between the eyes. His head continued to throb.
But, like it did nearly every fucking time he took a shower now, his cock rose to attention and demanded action.
After that one night with Eva over six weeks ago, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Particularly when he was in the shower. After she’d let him come all over her chest, the two of them had enjoyed a long, sexy, mind-blowing shower of their own, where she showed him just how talented, how perfect her mouth was, and he in return gave her more orgasms than she could count.
They’d fallen into bed laughing, both of them passing out, exhausted from all the endorphins and orgasms, only for Scott to wake up the next morning to an empty bed, an empty hotel room and not a phone number or note in sight.
Thankfully, she also hadn’t robbed him. He still had his phone, wallet and keys. That was always the worry though, wasn’t it? You think you can read people, only to be blindsided by beauty and tit-fucking and then wind up naked, gagged and without your money or your clothes as you writhe and scream on the bed because you’re tied to the headboard.
It never happened to him, but it did happen to a friend—and Scott had been the one to find him. That image of his college roommate Steve still haunted him, particularly whenever he saw his buddy eat a plum or cherry tomato. Shudder.
But not Eva. She’d been perfect. And if it hadn’t been for the emptiness he felt in his balls the next morning, he would have started to think she was all a glorious dream.
He’d gone so far as to ask the front desk for her phone number, email address or even a last name, but apparently, they had either been given explicit instructions not to give out her information or they were just assholes doing their jobs. Either way, he’d returned home with zilch.
Well, not zilch. He had his memories. And they were what fueled his fantasies. Eva’s mouth, her tight pussy, her rocking tits, they were what he thought of, what he shut his eyes and envisioned as he gripped his fist around his cock and brought himself that small bit of relief.
Up and down he rubbed until a bead of precum emerged on the tip, only to get washed away by the pummeling water. His fist sped up as he remembered the pillowy softness of her breasts and the way they hugged his cock just right. And that tight little slit of hers. Jesus, fuck. He’d never have guessed in a million years that she’d had kids, she was so damn tight. Like a born-again virgin or some shit. He felt it all. Every pulse, every single contraction of her orgasm rippled around his cock, around his fingers as she came, spilling her sweet nectar over his tongue.
“Fuck,” he ground out, squeezing his cock at the head only to drag his fist back down to the base. He was so fucking close. Squeezing his eyes shut tighter, he brought back the memory of Eva on her knees in the shower, dipping her head to take one of his balls in her mouth, sucking on it, licking it. She hadn’t balked at a damn thing. She’d been eager and willing to explore and give just as much as he had. Then, rather than catching his cum, she’d pulled his cock out of her mouth and encouraged him to explode across her face—like a goddamn porno!
She’d lapped at the sensitive head of his cock as hot, ropy cum spurt from his crown and into her open mouth. She wore a big, beautiful smile on her face as she blinked through the water and stared up at him.
Yeah, that fucking did it.
Just like he had that night, Scott came hard. Only this time, instead of watching his cum decorate Eva, he watched it land on the shower floor and disappear down the drain. Far less appealing, not at all hot, but he worked with what he had, and that was the memory of Eva and her beautiful face covered in his cum.
Another five minutes, and he was scrubbed clean, turning off the shower and grabbing a dark gray towel from the rack.
More racket from outside and next door drew his attention to the window in the bathroom, and he peered out.
Well, hello!
That was not the ass of one of the moving men, no, it certainly was not.
She was bent over with her cheeks in the air, round and full and perky, tucked up in a pair of dark green yoga pants, swiveling back and forth as if caught in the wind.
Jesus, fuck. His cock twitched beneath the towel.
Maybe he should take a wander over next door and go meet his new neighbor. Take her a plate of cookies or a casserole or something.
Who the fuck was he kidding? He’d never made a casserole in his goddamn life. Burgers? Yes, he was a pro. Steak? Nobody barbecued a better one. Ribs? You bet your ass his could win a blue ribbon. Even his mac and cheese was Michelin-star-worthy. But casserole? Fuck no.
A call from in the house caused the woman attached to the rocking ass to stand straight up. He couldn’t tell what color her hair was. She had a baseball cap on, and her hair appeared to be in two braids over her shoulders. The glare of the sun made it impossible to see anything but sexy shadows. But what he could tell was that she also had a fucking awesome figure.
Curvy but fit, with a nice waist and hips he could really hold on to.
Was she going to turn around?
Voices from inside the house grew louder, and his new neighbor headed inside, showing him just how well she moved in those yoga pants.
Ah, fuck. Now he had another boner.
He needed to figure out how to make a casserole and go over and introduce himself, otherwise, he was going to be stuck inside all afternoon with his fist, lube and a box of tissue
s staring out the window—and that was just creepy.
After another quick round of self-abuse---not staring out the window—followed by coffee and a breakfast smoothie to help combat the hangover, Scott was pulling on his own baseball cap and heading out the door to go and meet the new neighbor. Of course, it would be just his luck that Ms. Green Yoga Pants had a hunky mountain of muscle living with her who got to peel her out of those tight yoga pants every night.
Either way, he needed to find out for himself. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Green Yoga Pants had kids Freddie’s age, and they could all play together. Lord knew the neighborhood needed more young blood in it. He seemed to be surrounded by blue-hairs. Septuagenarians to the left of him, octogenarians to the right, there he was, stuck in the middle with a loud kid who liked to ride his bike up and down the sidewalk until bedtime. All while making the absolute noisiest fire-engine sound he could.
But the new neighbor was moving into where Mr. Octogenarian had once lived. Only Mr. Octogenarian had finally given up the good fight and moved into an assisted living facility with his lady friend, Mrs. Sexagenarian. A big neighborhood scandal indeed. She was a whopping fourteen years younger than him, still had her original hips and was divorced, not widowed—or at least so said Edith the Septuagenarian on Scott’s left.
Yeah, they needed some young blood in the neighborhood for sure. Not that Scott didn’t like his neighbors, because they were all lovely, kind older people; they were just big gossips. Whether he was out for a run, collecting the mail, raking leaves or taking Freddie out with his bike, he was stopped by a neighbor from somewhere down the road and given the full update on everyone in all the other houses.
He could just imagine the talk down at the duck pond about this new neighbor moving in. Every blue-hair on the street would probably be by within the week to say hello and offer their own bit of suburbia intel.
And if you start banging your neighbor, you’ll only become part of that gossip.