Construction Worker Fucks His Married Neighbor

The late afternoon sun beat down on the quiet suburban cul-de-sac as Mike Thompson wiped the sweat from his brow. The 28-year-old construction foreman had just finished another brutal week pouring concrete, and his body ached in that satisfying, heavy way that always left him horned up. His wife, Sarah, was gone for the weekend visiting her sister upstate, leaving the house empty and his mind far too free to wander.

He stood at the wooden fence that separated his yard from the neighbor’s, pretending to inspect the climbing roses while his eyes tracked the man next to him. Ryan Caldwell was on all fours in the flowerbed again, wearing those goddamn gray athletic shorts that had gotten progressively tighter over the past two months. The thin fabric clung to the firm, rounded globes of Ryan’s ass like it had been painted on. Every time Ryan leaned forward to dig in the dirt, the shorts rode up, exposing the smooth, tanned backs of his thighs and the shadowed cleft that made Mike’s thick cock twitch violently inside his worn work jeans.

Ryan was thirty-two, lean and sculpted from years of morning runs and weekend gym sessions. As an openly gay graphic designer, he worked from home and spent a lot of time outside. Mike had first noticed him six months ago when they’d moved in. At first it had been innocent curiosity. Then it became stolen glances. Then it became something darker, hungrier. Something that made Mike’s married dick leak pre-cum in the shower while he thought about bending the man over and splitting that tight ass wide open.

Ryan knew. Mike was sure of it. The way Ryan had started wearing shorter and tighter shorts, the way he’d linger when they talked across the fence, the way his voice dropped into a low, teasing register whenever he said Mike’s name. The tension had been building like a storm ready to break.

“Those roses giving you trouble again, Mike?” Ryan called out without looking up, his voice smooth and knowing. He arched his back deliberately as he reached for a trowel, pushing his ass higher into the air. The seam of the shorts disappeared between his cheeks.

Mike’s cock surged, thickening down the leg of his jeans until the fat head was pressing obscenely against the denim. “Yeah,” he grunted, voice rough. “Can’t seem to keep my hands off ’em lately.”

Ryan finally turned his head, flashing a crooked, filthy smile. His eyes dropped straight to the massive bulge tenting Mike’s pants. “I know the feeling. Some things are just too tempting to ignore.”

The loaded silence that followed crackled. Mike’s heart hammered. He was married. Straight. Or at least that’s what he’d told himself for years. But the way his cock throbbed every time Ryan bent over had become impossible to deny.

Over the next few weeks the flirtation grew bolder. Dirty banter flew back and forth over the fence like grenades.

“You ever get tired of pounding things all day at work, Mike?” Ryan had asked one evening, licking his lips slowly.

“Depends what I’m pounding,” Mike had shot back, voice low enough that only Ryan could hear.