Just a quickie, probably first in a series. Contains femdom, cheating, foot fetish and CFNM. If these elements are not to your taste, please don't waste your time telling me as much.
That said, enjoy!
*****
You see, the thing was - staring down at my laptop all the time was kinking up my neck something fierce.
That summer, my girlfriend Kara and I had decided to stagger our vacations such that her time off and mine only overlapped by a week. This arrangement was ostensibly so that I could get around to doing some stuff around the house that I'd been promising to get to - repaint some of the baseboards, clean out behind the stove, refinish a table - but in practice, the first thing I was doing every morning after the door shut behind my girlfriend was opening up my laptop for a nice, long, lazy wank.
It's not that Kara couldn't keep me satisfied or that we didn't have sex often enough or anything; it was just that I was 25, and had some time to myself, one thing led to another, and nature took its course. Consequently, I was probably masturbating a few hours a day, staring at porn on my laptop as it whirred away in the summer heat. The bottom of the computer would get uncomfortable, especially as the July days blazed away outside, but it was really when I started to notice my neck hurting that I decided to do something about it.
"Something" turned out to be a fairly kluge-y solution whereby I'd torrent a selection of porn movies overnight while Kara and I slept in the next room, put the most promising of them on a USB stick, jam that into the game console under our TV, and enjoy myself at full HD on our 55-inch TV.
On that particular day, I was two or three movies deep into my queue, shirtless and sprawled out on the couch, shorts around my ankles while I stroked my cock. On the TV, a luscious blonde was kneeling between the legs of some faceless porn stud, quietly moaning and enthusiastically describing what she was going to do to his cock. Sweaty and rock-hard, I didn't dare any full strokes, lest the party ended too soon; instead, I held the base between thumb and forefinger and lightly slapped my cock against my bare stomach, plum head bouncing off my abs.
The blonde was just wrapping her lips around her co-stars thickness when somebody knocked on the front door. Three sharp raps. I froze, heart in my throat. Maybe if I just stayed *very* still, they'd go away of their own accord. The knocking came again, and the sickening realization that I could hear the sound coming from both inside and outside the house stole over me. Eyes wide, I glanced over at the windows; a single breath of hot summer wind stirred the curtains, then petered out.
"Holy shit!" I scrambled for the remote, trying to yank my shorts up with one hand and jam on the 'MUTE' button with the other. Whoever was at the door knocked again.
"Hang on! I'm coming!" TV safely muted, I hit pause on the console just for that extra layer of security, and stood up, struggling with my belt as I did. Outside, a dog barked. "Hang on, hang on!" I got it buckled through the first hole I found, rushing for the door, heart pounding in my chest. "I'm coming, I'm com-"
A tall woman stood on the other side of the door, an equally long-limbed Great Dane seated beside her. Her jet-black hair was pulled through a bright white ballcap, cascading down her back in a long, straight, shimmery curtain, dusting around slim, olive-skinned shoulders that showed every sign of having been sculpted in a gym somewhere. Her turquoise halter-top contrasted with the deep colour of her skin, bright technical fabric skimming closely along her trim form, compressing her breasts into a uniform bulge above her taut stomach; the hem came to just above her navel, where a silver ring sparkled in the sun. From there, it was a long hop to the zebra-striped compression shorts that were stretched tightly across the broad sweep of her hips, the inseam only fractionally long enough to make them shorts and not simply panties. Though she stood with her legs together, a shaft of light shone through a keyhole gap between her thighs, where lean, sculpted muscle bunched on down to her knees, past which the plates of her calves rippled beneath smooth dark skin. On her feet, she wore a pair of flip-flops, revealing a bright nail polish that matched her top, and a tattoo of an intricate Aztec lizard, its head biting her left ankle, the tail sliding down between her big toe and the next.
From under the brim of the hat, cool green eyes took me in, and I was very aware that I wasn't wearing a shirt.
I recognized her almost immediately; after all, we saw her practically every day, walking her dog, going for a run, or both. Kara noticed because of the dog, I noticed because of her penchant for day-glo running outfits and brightly-printed compression leggings. She was older than us, we'd decided, maybe early forties ,though it didn't show much except in some creases around her mouth, and the crinkled smile-lines around her eyes.
"Um- hi?" I offered.
"What's going on in here?" She asked, crossing her arms under her breasts, pushing them up. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, nothing?" I said. "Nothing at all, just hanging out, trying to ignore the heat." I tried a friendly smile but it didn't quite work out.
"Nonsense," the woman said, putting one foot inside the door. I stretched my arms across the doorframe in a clumsy attempt to block entry. "I'm sure I heard a woman being slapped in here."
"Whoa, wow." My eyebrows shot up, and I could feel the blood draining from my face. "Definitely nothing like that going on, I promise you."
"Well, I don't think you'd tell me if you *were* beating up your girlfriend in here, would you?" Her eyebrows furrowed, and she set her mouth in a line, which was a difficult feat for such pillowy lips.
"Trust me," I said, emphatically. "I am definitely *not* beating anybody up in here." She stepped inside my arms and suddenly her face was very close to mine. She smelled faintly floral; Kara used the same deodorant.
"Prove it," she insisted.
"Prove it? How am I gonna prove-"
"Let me in and I'll see for myself." The hand that wasn't holding the leash pressed against my chest. Her nails were long and colored to match her toes. "Or I can call the cops, I guess."
"Lady, there's nothing going on in here, I swear."
"Brutus," she said in a low voice. Two hundred pounds of canine unfolded itself on my front step and set up a growl that was so deep it was almost subsonic.
"Okay. Fine," I said, relenting. She swept past me into the house; Brutus stopped growling and trotted after her, nails clicking on the laminate floor. Seconds later, it dawned on me that she was heading straight for the living room.
"Hey! Wait! Wait!" I rushed after this imperious woman, only to find her standing in the middle of the living room, eyes on the TV as a bemused look crossed her face. Brutus sat at her feet, panting in the summer swelter. On-screen, the image of the blonde hung frozen, lips drawn outward as she slurped on somebody's fat cock.
"I see," she said.
"Exactly," I said, with a nervous laugh. "Nobody getting slapped. Just me and-"
"-and your hand." The woman laughed. "Is this what you get up to when your girlfriend's at work? She must not be very satisfactory in the bedroom."
