Sunday July 12th 2:30 p.m.
It's a scene that we've played out for so many years I've lost count, but it's still as much fun for me as it apparently is for Donna. Donna is the woman who is kneeling on the chair in front of me, looking out the window with her shorts and panties pulled down to her knees, looking out at her husband in the back yard.
Her lard-ass husband Pete has assumed the position of his choice as well, which is flat on his back in a chaise lounge, a beer beside him and the obnoxious voice of Yankees radio announcer John Sterling blaring from the boom box positioned next to the beer.
Me? I'm the guy positioned in the kitchen, with my slacks and underwear down around my ankles, also looking out at the backyard over Donna's shoulder at my friend Pete while my cock moves in and out of his wife's pussy.
John Sterling is going into one of his contrived "It is far! It is deep!" rants because one of Yankees has just hit one deep to left field and he thinks it might be a home run. Because he gets it wrong so often, one never really knows, but in the kitchen I am taking Donna deep, and she's loving it.
She whimpers each time I thrust my cock all the way into her sweet pussy, the clapping sounds of our bodies slapping together synchronized nicely with her moans and my grunts. It's a beautiful chorus that her husband could hear if he was paying attention, but he doesn't seem to be.
My hands are wrapped around Donna, her body still remarkably slender and fit despite her fifty one years, and they are roughly kneading her tits. Roughly because that's the way she likes it. She likes her tits mauled, and I'm happy to accommodate her.
Her breasts used to be perky little cones, but after a couple of kids and the aging process, they hang down loosely. Almost all nipple, they barely fill my hand these days, but I love them just the same. Donna knows I love them too, unlike her husband, who spent their younger years mocking their lack of size and humiliating her in front of others with his snide comments.
Pete used to be my friend, but I now consider him as more of an acquaintance than anything else. We've grown apart over the years for many reasons, some just because we've gotten different interests, but mostly because of the way he treats his wife. Maybe my screwing his wife every chance I get has something to do with it too.
I don't like that; the physical and mental abuse of women or spouses in general I mean. If you don't love each other, that's fine. Go your separate ways. That's what Jen and I did several years ago, although she wasn't quite as adult about the breakup as I had wished. I thought I had taken it well, all things considered, after finding out about her raging infidelity right after we discovered we would never be able to have children, but that's water over the dam now.
So now I live in the same house we shared for a couple of decades, just down the road from Donna and Pete. We used to be tight, the four of us, but since Jen packed up and moved on we don't do the couples thing any more, obviously. Mostly we meet like this.
I've known Donna since we were teens, and I hate the fact that I never had the nerve to tell her how I felt about her. Strange how becoming friends with a girl can work both ways. Sometimes it makes a relationship happen, and in my case, sometimes it scares you off for fear of losing them as a friend if they don't feel the same. That's they way we were, it appears,
Donna begins to orgasm, and I can tell this because I've grown accustomed to the buildup. The high-pitched little grunts as it begins to build and then a longer groan - almost a squeal - as her pussy clamps down around my cock hard. This usually send me on my way too, and this time is no exception.
My whole lower body tingles as I send jets of my seed deep into her womb. It feels like I'm cumming a whole lot for some reason, although it usually feel that way since this is the only sex I have and it must build up inside of me waiting for release.
Like I said at the beginning, this is something that we have done numerous times over the last decade, only there was something different about this time. It had to do with Donna calling me on my cell phone, asking me that if I wanted her I should hurry down.
The answer to that was obvious. Of course I wanted her. What she said afterward was strange, but I agreed to it. It bothered me at first, but once I went into the house and spread Donna's slim and trim thighs apart, I forgot about it for the time being.
Now, having cum, I was reminded about it when Donna gave me a quick kiss and pointed me toward the door. I went towards the door but did not leave as was the usual custom. Instead I waited around the corner of the living room, along the wall where the pictures of them with their kids filled every inch of space.
I stood there waiting while Donna called out to her husband, and after I heard the screen door slam a second time, I heard muttering and footsteps going down the hall toward their bedroom. After a suitable pause, I followed.
The door to the bedroom was left ajar, just as Donna said it would be, and just as I had told her I would, I watched as the bizarre scene unfolded before my eyes.
...
Sunday July 12th 3:00 p.m.
If you had told me yesterday that I would be positioned in the hall outside of my neighbor's bedroom in the middle of a hot July afternoon like this I would have laughed in your face, but here I was.
I was not laughing either, as the surreal scene played out right in front of me. Donna was on her back in the bed, her blouse still on but pulled up to her neck. Her shorts and panties were off, and her legs were spread wide open with her feet planted on the mattress.
I had a good view of Donna's pussy, and it was one I enjoyed immensely. The spacious triangle of charcoal black hair had been trimmed slightly around the outer edges so she could wear bathing suits without embarrassment, but Donna still had an exquisitely hairy pussy that reflected her Italian heritage. It was something she had also been ashamed of, but was something I adored.
The problem was, as I could see even from my limited vantage point, was that I could see my cum on the fringes of the pussy hair along her opening, and if I could see it, Pete certainly could, because he was standing at the foot of the bed staring right at it.
Pete was pulling down his shorts, and while I didn't want to look at his pale white ass, I didn't have much choice. When he began talking, I could barely hear him because of the sounds of my heart pounding.
"He fucked you good, didn't he slut?" Pete snarled, the tenor of his voice chilling. "His cum is leaking out of you. Didn't you keep your legs closed on the way in here?"
"I tried," Donna said in a whisper.
"Don't start crying on me, slut," Pete snapped. "You asked for it. Now you had your fun, I'm going to have mine. Who knows? You'll probably like it too."
Pete was wedging a pillow under Donna's ass, and waddled over to yank up Donna's blouse so that her wrists were bound, and somehow secured them up my the headboard. Pete's dick was hard and bobbed in front of him under his beer belly as he came back to the foot of the bed.
"Spread them," Pete said, and Donna opened her legs wider in response.
Donna looked so helpless and scared there on the bed, her arms stretched up over her head. Her tiny breasts all but disappeared with her like that on her back, and I knew that Donna didn't like to be seen like that. Maybe that was why Pete had done it.
"Now slut," Pete said. "Tell me all about it. Tell me what Dave did to you, and how much you liked it."
The sound of my name sent a shiver right down my spine, as I realized that our relationship had been discovered. I got ready to burst into the room, not willing to let this clown hurt her any more than he had already over the years.
Pete got on his knees and moved up between Donna's legs, and for a moment I thought to myself - this guy not only knows that another guy just had sex with his wife but is going to fuck her right after it!
That wasn't the case, and in retrospect that perverse notion would have been a whole lot more sane than what followed.
"Talk to me, Donna," Pete said as he crouched over his wife. "It must have been good, because I could hear you squealing all the way out there. Tell me everything, right from the start."
"I called Dave like you told me to, and he came right over."
"Keep going. I'm not going to keep asking."
"He came over and asked me where you were. Told him you were out back and that I wanted him to - you know."
