The Terraces

The Terraces

As an Australian living in the UK, I've always found the whole terraced house thing a little bizarre - a row of houses, all connected to each other, sharing a dividing wall, their gardens separated by a fence at best.

I grew up in a moderately sized detached house on a big block on Sydney's northern beaches. The houses were all far enough apart that you had to make a bit of an effort to go and see your neighbour.

These days, I live with my wife, Rachel, in a terrace house in a city in southern England. We're both in our mid-thirties and have been in the house, which is in a quiet cul-de-sac, for about five years.

Here, I can walk out into my backyard and find myself face to face with the guy next door. When I walk down the street in the evening and I see a ground-floor window with a light on, I instinctively look in - and then have to quickly avert my eyes as a startled neighbour looks back at me. In short, it's a style of living where it's very difficult not to peer directly into other people's lives.

However, in the five years we've been in the house, I've slowly become used to not "seeing" the neighbours ­- to maintaining this weird, slightly uptight British facade whereby we can go about our business in our backyards without acknowledging each other's presence. Indeed, I've started to find it quite off-putting when people hail me from a few gardens away. "Don't you know how this works?" I think to myself.

Several months ago, the couple directly across the road from us sold up and moved back to Ireland. The place was vacant for a while, then a middle-aged couple bought it, spent a few weeks freshening it up and then put it up for rent. When the real estate agent held open-house viewings, I would stand in the upstairs bedroom that overlooks the street in our place - which we've turned into my study - and surreptitiously check out the potential tenants.

On the third such viewing, I spotted a moderately attractive woman - in her early forties at a guess - approaching the house. Her lustrous shoulder-length copper-coloured hair shone in the morning sunlight and her low-cut dress gave me an excellent view of her extensive pale cleavage. I waited in the room, pretending to be working, while stealing glances at the front door opposite and was eventually rewarded with one more eyeful of those beautiful breasts as she left.

Naturally, I spent the next few weeks replaying those sublime cleavage views whenever I had a quiet moment, all the while constructing elaborate fantasies in which the woman moved into the house, we became friends and, well, one thing led to another and I got to see so much more than just a flash of cleavage.

Then, one day, as I was on my way back from walking our dog, I noticed some traffic cones set up in front of the empty house. Nearby, a sign on a telegraph pole announced that parking was prohibited as a moving van was due the next day.

Of course, I spent the following day sitting in my office working, and sure enough, just after 11am, a big green moving truck pulled up to the opposite kerb. A couple of burly blokes hopped out and began opening up the back of the truck as an unfamiliar car pulled up behind. The driver's side door opened and there she was. The sun was just high enough to cast light into the street between the two rows of houses and as she walked to join the movers, the woman's hair sparkled like it was on fire. And yes, that delicious cleavage was once more on display.

Although all of the houses in the street - Victorian terraces built to house workers on the nearby railway line - have the same basic two-up-two-down layout, they've all had work done on them over the years, so now no two are the same. Upstairs, however, there's generally only two choices for the master bedroom: either facing the street or facing the garden at the back.

Our street is really narrow - there's a footpath on one side and parking on the other, and that's it - so the houses are particularly close together. Hence most people keep the curtains drawn in their upstairs windows, to avoid the possibility of making awkward eye contact across the street or revealing more of their lives (and bodies) than they feel comfortable with.

As I mentioned, we use the street-facing upstairs room for my office (I'm a freelance writer and editor). Our new neighbour, on the other hand, chose to use that room for her bedroom. After she had moved in, I would very occasionally see her opening the curtains to let some light into the room in the morning or pulling them closed in the evening to get some privacy, but of course I studiously looked away to avoid making that awkward eye contact.

We were soon passing each other regularly in the street. Much to my delight, she favoured low-cut tops and more often than not, displayed a significant acreage of luscious cleavage. Every so often, we would stop to chat - her name was Claire, I discovered - and it was all I could do to keep my eyes away from her chest.

Well, actually, I regularly failed to do so. If she looked away while she was talking, my eyes would quickly flick down and steal a glance at those wonderful tits without her noticing. Well, again, I wasn't always successful at that last part either, but she seemed to take my lecherous looks with good humour, crinkling her luminous green eyes, a wry smile on her lips.

As you may have guessed, I am, without question, a boob man. A nice pair will turn my brain to jelly and my cock to steel. In fact, I consider myself to be something of a breast connoisseur. I have a Tumblr blog dedicated to nice-looking breasts and spend far too many hours scrolling through other people's tit-based Tumblrs looking for breasts that fit my aesthetic requirements - big but not too big (I find really big breasts kinda grotesque - I just find myself feeling a bit sorry for the women who have to carry them around; they must do terrible things to their backs), a bit of hang, nice and pale. Rachel's tits are truly lovely, a large B-cup and wonderfully soft, but I just had a feeling that Claire's were a step up. They were certainly a bit larger - more like a generous C-cup.

During our brief chats and even sometimes when we passed on the street, I would catch a waft of Claire's perfume - always the same one: J'adore by Dior if I'm not mistaken.

One night, after dinner, I climbed the stairs and went into my office to get a book. When I walked in, I instantly spotted Claire in the room opposite. She had her arms raised, about to close the curtains, and was looking directly at me. Our eyes locked and held. I didn't know what to do, so I froze and just stared back at her. She, too, stayed motionless, but she somehow seemed much more relaxed about the situation than I was. After a few moments that felt like a few minutes, she smiled and then drew the curtains tightly shut. I quickly grabbed my book and went back downstairs.

About a week later, it happened again. Once again, we locked eyes, but this time, she smiled straight away, before slowly taking a step back, her eyes still locked onto mine. She raised a finger to her lips, gave me a playful look and then dropped her finger from her lips and began to unbutton her shirt, her eyes still locked to mine, her lips still curled in a playful smile.

She made quick work of the buttons and when the last one was undone, she slid the shirt from her shoulders, exposing those magnificent breasts, barely contained by a black-lace bra. Then, just as I was drinking in this incredible sight - the one that had populated so many of my recent fantasies - she winked, stepped forward and pulled the curtains closed once more.

It was only then that I registered how hard my cock was. I turned away from the window and started to rub it through my jeans, a faint groan rising from my throat. I quickly exited the room and went looking for Rachel.

I found her in the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea. I sidled up behind her, pushed her hair to the side and kissed her on the back of the neck, while simultaneously pushing my hips forward slightly so that my hard cock was pressed into the crack of her ass.

"Well, well. What's all this then?" she said as she slid her hand down and grasped my cock through my jeans. She turned, smiling, and put her arms around my neck, then drew me in and kissed me deeply. Raising herself up slightly, she brought her hands down to my ass and pulled me closer as she started to grind her crotch against mine.

Breaking the kiss, she squatted down in front of me, lowering the zipper on my jeans and undoing the button as she descended. Tucking her fingers into the waistband of my boxers, she quickly lowered the whole lot, exposing my member in all its tumescent glory. Leaning forward, she extended her tongue and slowly licked it from base to tip as she cupped my ass cheeks in her hands.

After a few more long, wet lollipop licks, she grasped hold of my aching cock with her right hand, pulled it forward until it was almost horizontal and then engulfed it, the warm, wet suction instantly sending a bolt of pleasure through my groin. She slowly started to move her head back and forth, sliding her lips over my cock while her tongue gently caressed it.

"Mmmmmm. Fuck that feels good. Suck that cock," I muttered. Rachel loves giving head, even more so when I talk dirty to her, and she was soon quietly moaning, her left hand buried in her knickers, her right hand sliding along my shaft in time with her lips.

I could soon feel my orgasm building and so could she. Leaving her lips locked on my cock, she unbuttoned her shirt, pushed it off her shoulders and then reached into her bra and pulled out her breasts.

After pausing to spit some saliva into her palm, Rachel began to properly jerk me off, pointing my cock at her chest. "Come on my tits," she said, huskily. The feeling of her saliva-slick hand running up and down my shaft, combined with the sight of her swaying breasts, sent me over the edge and with a groan, I began to spray jets of cum all over her milky-white tits. She smiled up at me as the creamy liquid dripped its way down to her nipples and onto the kitchen tiles.

"Well that was fun," Rachel said, as she grabbed some kitchen towel and began to wipe up the mess. "What got you so excited all of a sudden?"

"Nothing, really," I lied. "I just started to fantasise about you blowing me and things kinda, well, grew from there, so to speak."

----

For the next week, I made regular visits to my study, even occasionally sitting down to do some work after dinner - not something I usually make a habit of - in the hope of a repeat of Claire's display, but although the curtains were sometimes open, the light stayed off and I didn't see any sign of her. When I bumped into her on the street, she was warm and friendly, but no more so than she was with the other neighbours.

And then, finally, while I was coming to the end of a piece of editing work, I saw the light come on in Claire's bedroom out of the corner of my eye. I spun my chair around and saw her walk towards the window. She smiled and gave a little wave.

Then, once again, she began to unbutton her shirt. This time, however, after she had slid it off her shoulders and onto the floor she reached behind her back and began to fiddle with her skirt. Soon it, too, was on the floor and she was standing there in a matching set of red lacy bra and knickers. Unsurprisingly, my cock was rock hard and I started to rub it through my shorts.

Claire looked at me, raised her eyebrows, tilted her head down slightly, looked pointedly at my crotch and then back up at my face - and then cocked her head, a crooked smile on her lips. The message was pretty clear. I stood up from my chair and moved towards the window. I looked left and right at the neighbouring windows. Could anyone else see me?

The good news was that her near neighbours rarely opened their street-facing curtains - all I could see was darkness. Still, it was pretty arousing thinking that at any moment, someone could come out of their door or walk down the street or, yes, open their curtains and see either of us.

Of course, there was also Rachel to think about, but she was downstairs watching TV and those stairs are old and decidedly creaky, so I figured that I would be able to hear her coming up them. But who am I kidding? Was I really going to pass up the opportunity to get naked with a woman with a body like that, no matter the risk?

Anyhow, feeling relatively safe that I wasn't going to get caught, I slipped my shorts and boxers off, grabbed my almost painfully hard cock and began to stroke it. Claire smiled and reached behind her back once more.

Oh, heavenly father... Her bra joined her shirt and skirt on the floor and I finally got a full, unobstructed view of Claire's exquisite tits: the pale, translucent skin; the perfect arcing curve underneath; just the right amount of hang so that they swayed enticingly as she moved, always a half step behind the rest of her. They looked soft, like pillows, so soft that it almost seemed that they'd been filmed in soft focus. Her pale-pink areolas were about the size of a 50p coin, surrounding slightly darker nipples. The inner edges of her tits came together at the centre of her chest, so with her arms at her sides, they formed a lovely long straight line of cleavage. I could lose myself for days in those tits.

She seemed to be pretty aroused. Her nipples were standing out hard and proud, and I could see her chest rising and falling. She reached up and held both of her tits in her hands, squeezing them lightly and then taking her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, and rolling them around a little before giving them a light tweak, her eyes closing in pleasure. They fluttered open again and, still smiling, she slowly brought her right hand down to her crotch and began to lightly rub her slit through her knickers.

I continued to stroke my cock, but only lightly, just grazing it with my fingers, savouring the feeling as I watched Claire hook her thumbs into her knickers and lean forward a little, her tits swaying from side to side, her underwear heading floor-ward.

When she straightened back up it became clear that she was a natural redhead. She had a neatly trimmed ginger bush, below which I could just make out her pale, clean-shaven pussy lips. Well, not for long, because her fingers were quickly exploring them.

I brought my right hand to my mouth and deposited a big blob of saliva on it then reached back down and rubbed it all over my cock. Claire was clearly staring at my crotch as I began to jerk off in earnest. Her left hand was working her tits while her right was now rubbing her clit in tight little circles.

She seemed to be breathing more rapidly now and it looked as though the fingers of her left hand were digging deeper into her tit, while the fingers on her right hand were moving more frantically over her clit. I could feel my orgasm approaching and I got the feeling that Claire's was close, too.

And then it hit her. I could see her tense up. Her head rocked back and her eyes closed and I could see the tension in her neck. The sight was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen and as her eyes opened and her head dropped back down, my own orgasm hit.

I saw Claire's eyes widen as I shot several thick globs of cum on the window in front of me. She grinned broadly as she gently massaged her tits and we both watched my semen begin to slowly make its way down the window pane. Then she blew me a kiss, gave me a little wave and closed the curtains. I quickly grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on my desk and did my best to clean the windowpane, which mostly meant smearing cum all over the place.

----

About a week after Claire and I masturbated together on either side of the street, a small padded envelope - addressed to me in unfamiliar handwriting, no return address - arrived with the rest of the mail. Opening it, I found a USB stick ­- no note, nothing else. As I pulled it out, I got a vague waft of something, a very faint hint of a smell. I sniffed the envelope and yes, I reckoned that maybe, just maybe, I could smell Claire's perfume on it.

Curious, and yes, against my better judgement (internet security and all that), I grabbed my laptop and headed up to our bedroom. Sitting on the bed, I inserted the USB stick and after a quick virus scan, I opened it up. There was a single file on there with a generic DSC_xxxx.mpeg filename. I double-clicked on the icon and a video started to silently play on the laptop screen.

At first all I could see was a pair of bare shins and ankles. Then, as they moved away from the camera, I saw more of the smooth, pale legs. The knees bent and a woman, dressed in a red wrap-around dress, sat down on the floor facing the camera, her knees together but bent. The camera was angled so that I could see everything up to her neck, but not her face. Blood began to make its way into my cock as, ever so slowly, the woman in the video slid her feet apart and her hands slid the dress up her thighs, to reveal - oh my, yes, I would recognise that pussy anywhere.

When I saw those bright-orange pubes, fiery against the porcelain-white pussy lips beneath, my cock was instantly rock hard. On the screen, Claire began to slowly untie the bow that was holding the dress closed and I quickly undid the button holding my shorts closed. By the time she had opened the dress to reveal those incredible (bra-free) tits, my shorts and boxers were beside me on the bed and my cock was in my hand. Luckily, Rachel was out doing the shopping, so I had the house to myself for a while.

Claire began to very lightly stroke her tits - just airily moving her hands around them, her fingers lightly brushing the skin. Every so often, she circled both of her nipples with a finger and I could see them starting to harden, the little nubs filling out until they were standing right up.

Her fingers began to rub harder over her tits, stopping every now and then to roll a nipple between thumb and forefinger. I could see her chest begin to rise and fall more deeply.

Her hands moved down and began to slowly rub her outer and then inner thighs. They moved higher and she began to rub her outer pussy lips. And then they parted ways, one heading up to caress her breasts, the other staying put and starting to rub her clit.

Her hips began to move, almost imperceptibly at first and then the little thrusts getting deeper and deeper. Her fingers were right into her slit now, rubbing up and down on either side of her engorged clit, sometimes squeezing together so that it poked out from between them.

I had a sudden thought and unmuted the laptop's sound. And there it was - the missing piece of the puzzle. I thought I was going to come there and then as I heard her ragged breathing and the faint liquid sounds of her fingers working away on that wet pussy. Every so often, she would moan or groan or there would be a slightly sharper intake of breath.

Her fingers were moving faster now, alternately rubbing and squeezing her clit. "Oh god, that feels so good," I heard her say. "My pussy's so wet." She wasn't kidding - I could see the sticky cunt juice coating her fingers. She continued to rub her clit with the fingers on her right hand while her left rubbed her tits. Then her left slid down and she slowly inserted one finger and then another into her pussy. "Fuck, fuck. Yes, yes. Oh, fuck that's good."

Everything was moving more quickly now - her right hand was furiously rubbing her clit in tight circles while her left was repeatedly ramming two fingers into her cunt. Her hips were thrusting back and forth and her breathing had also upped the pace. She kept making little squeaks of pleasure.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to come," she gasped. And sure enough, there it was - her pale tits were suddenly flushed with pink and her whole body tensed up and shuddered. As she continued to vigorously rub her pussy, she convulsed a few times and I could hear her groaning and quietly saying "fuck" over and over. That was my cue to let myself finally release the pent-up tension in my groin and cum began to spurt across my abdomen.