Prologue
Jessica
I masturbate at least twice after he leaves, replaying his words in my mind. I don't know about most women, but for me that's the norm. If they were even in earshot of the stories he tells me, however, I wonder if they might match my own enthusiasm for the activity. Some would likely surpass that repetition if they're the type of girl that I am, or if they have a neighbor like Alex.
I know that Alex sees what he does to me with his stories, his confessions, but I don't think that my husband has much of a clue as to what is really happening in our kitchen on those mornings. Dale seems too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice the hours I spend with my thighs tightly wrapped around my petite little fingers during and after those sessions.
I wonder if Dale appreciates how much of a benefit my coffee time with Alex has given our own sex life, or if he just thinks I'm extraordinarily hot and cold depending on the day of the week. I think that he has at least some idea as to why I jump on him every night after, but asking him seems like a bad idea.
Dale doesn't give the impression that he cares much about my conversations with Alex Faint, no matter how long they last. I hesitate to predict whether he'd be concerned about the times I've opened my robe, my thighs, my mouth for Alex to see and enjoy.
I wonder what Dale would think if he managed to catch me with my feet braced on either side of Alex's chair, my knees spread wide, my fingers diddling my little pussy as he tells me a story of sins perpetrated the evening before. What would he think as he watched me writhing under Alex's gaze, hanging on his every word, my tits heaving as I came again and again for my tale teller? Perish the thought.
Alex wouldn't fuck me before today, no matter what I've tried. Begging does nothing. Temptation has done even less. That never stopped me from giving myself orgasm after orgasm as he watched, him sometimes allowing me to rub the ball and arch of my tiny foot up and down the length of his obvious erection restrained only by the material of his slacks, usually linen.
I've felt his cock jerk as he his own orgasm, but he's seldom let me keep going with the meandering of my little toes. For the most part, I think he loves only to watch and play a bit.
I do love to cum that way, though, with his eyes on me and his breath hastening as he staves of his own climax. Such control, for the most part.
He's only let me see it twice. Both times were when Dale was home, working in his little wood shop, and we knew that he could come into the kitchen at any time.
Both times he had me strip my robe completely off and let it puddle beneath me as I filled my cunt with the fingers of one hand and my ass with the fingers of the other. Both times he had me kneel in front of him with my mouth open and my tongue flailing at the underside of his cock head. Both times he filled my mouth with his delicious cum, stroking that beautiful cock until every last drop coated my teeth and soon disappeared down my throat.
"Don't wrap your lips around it, slut," he whispered to me, "Take what I give you."
I always do what he tells me to, but he never told me what I could, or couldn't do with my tongue. Only my lips.
The first time was nearly a year ago and it was so hot that I've orgasmed over and over while riding my husband's cock (not like Alex's by any means, but not unimpressive) and gritting my teeth so that I wouldn't scream the wrong name. The thought of it always puts me over the edge.
The second time was this morning and was far more in depth; and much more fun.
Can you see why I'm in such a state? Can you imagine how it looked? I was down on my knees, kneeling on my kitchen floor like a wanton slut as he stood above me stroking his cock into my mouth, his chest heaving, me wrapping my tongue against his glans as I fingered both of my holes, dribbling a pool of cum beneath my kneeling form. I could go off again just thinking about it.
This kind of thing only happens when he's told me a particularly exciting and incredibly naughty story. I mean, they're always dirty and definitely exciting, but this one...
Alex is never one to pass up a chance at having a little fun. He might be slightly more successful if he had possession of such an ability as to avoid a good time, but he considers it an even trade. Success isn't all about power and position, anyway. Alex likes sex. He would take that over money any day of the week.
One of his greatest joys in each day of the past two years has become the arrangement he has with his neighbor's wife, yours truly. He does love to play with me over coffee, but I think he more enjoys talking with my husband just before and after our little sessions.
He stands in the doorway of Dale's shop for a few minutes to see how he's doing, or if he needs help with anything. Since Alex has always been my guest, Dale doesn't take much initiative toward involvement with him. Dale hasn't ever mentioned any objection to our little coffee time, even encourages it. I can safely say that my husband has much enjoyed the later advantages of our morning talks.
Don't get me wrong. I don't think for a second that Dale suspects anything actually happens, but I do think he believes that I have a little crush on Alex and that seeing him in the morning makes me susceptible to his own needs. And he's right, in a sense.
The first time I came with my painted toes pressed against Alex's cock was the first night I ever let Dale fuck my face until he squirted down my throat. I remember the way he looked at me after he came. It was like I'd given him a present. I nearly laughed at the irony of it, but managed to hold back.
This morning started in the same fashion as most mornings. I was in my robe, no panties or bra underneath, the downy fabric caressing my hardened nipples with each movement. It was around seven and Dale was already at it in the garage while I woke up a little at a time. I knew he'd be leaving for the office at around 8:30. He's a creature of habit, my Dale, and he's punctual to a fault.
Alex would be showing up soon to have a cup of coffee and a chat, which always started out my day just right. When I saw him walk through the gate that separated our yards, I knew that everything was on schedule and I took a moment to admire my naughty neighbor.
His sandy brown hair fell in a perfect part, framing a well-tanned and smiling face. Striking green eyes flashed in the sunlight. His dress was the usual: V-neck tee hanging loosely on his well-toned frame, stylishly relaxed fit linen slacks that couldn't hide his cock even if he did take the initiative to wear anything underneath, and comfortable looking, but obviously expensive, leather shoes due to the fact of today being a work day. He wore flip-flops after work and on weekends.
I love the way he dresses, so casual and yet you wouldn't see tags on any of his clothing. The only brand recognition would be discreetly sewn patches, nearly hidden, to designate the tailor who'd fabricated the wear.
I watched, clutching the lapel of my robe, my fingertips dabbling into my ample cleavage for a stroke, as Alex leaned into the doorway of my husband's workshop. The door was open, as it almost always was, and Alex entered with eyebrows raised and a smile forming. I couldn't help but notice that he didn't look toward the kitchen window.
I busied myself for the few minutes that the men would spend talking by making a fresh pot of coffee (we actually did drink a cup or two in the midst of our play, normally) and setting a clean mug in front of Alex's usual chair. He liked to be able to see out of the window for discretion's sake. I kept glancing toward them through the partly open blinds that hid the kitchen casement. My pussy was dripping wet as I set the sugar bowl between our two cups. I was nearing an orgasm without even touching myself, as my thighs seemed to be rubbing in just the right way.
Alex couldn't know it, but I'd taken the time to have a wax the afternoon before. My legs, pussy, asshole, and perineum were all silky smooth and bare to anyone who might look or... touch. I couldn't wait to slide my fingers along my smooth, swollen, lips for him. I couldn't wait to see him watching me.
I poured coffee into both cups and was stirring sugar into mine when I heard his polite knock. He waited for me to answer, as he always does.
