Midnight Visit From The Neighbor Wife

I’m a 28-year-old bachelor living alone when my married neighbors move in next door. Her name is Vanessa. Thirty-two, lush-bodied, and built like every filthy fantasy I’d ever jerked off to. Heavy, pendulous breasts that strained against every top she wore, wide hips that flared out dramatically, and a soft, fat ass so juicy her tight little sundresses looked one deep breath away from ripping.

Late at night I’d catch her staring at me from her kitchen window while her husband was away on another business trip. The lights would be low, just the glow of the range hood painting her curves in gold. She never looked away first. Those dark eyes would lock on mine, drop deliberately to the front of my shorts, then crawl back up slowly, like she was measuring every inch I had. The hunger between us was so thick it felt like static electricity. My cock would throb and lift against the fabric every single time, hard enough to ache. I knew she could see it. I stopped pretending to hide it.

One midnight the soft knock came at my back door.

I opened it and there she stood in a short, emerald silk robe that barely reached the tops of her thick thighs. Her nipples were already stiff, two blatant points tenting the thin material. She looked almost frantic, cheeks flushed, lips parted.