B-school classes. Unfinished taxes. Need anti-acids. Everything still in boxes.

“You say something, Sweetie?” Laurel looks up from her Netflix binge. Relaxed as a cat.

Not like me. “The Zantac?” I ask. Stomach in knots.

“Spare room. Carton labeled ‘Bath.’”

Moved Friday. Needs paint, shelves, rugs, curtains. The works.

Spare room has no light. Use my phone.

Rap music and laughter pour in the window.  Throbbing bass at 120 bpm. Explicit lyrics. “Suck my cock” and “eat your pussy” repeat every couple of bars. Can’t say the realtor didn’t warn us.

University women’s dorm next door. But your windows are doubled glazed. Almost soundproof.

Sure as hell hope so. Move to close the window. Caught like a deer in headlights.

A hot girl dancing twenty-feet away. Small and tight. Naked, except a tiny yellow thong. Long dark hair. Tits bouncing. Hard nipples. Grinding like a stripper.

Violet eyes meet mine. Coy smile. A little wave.

Hello, there! I wave back.

Second girl. Tall and blond and willowy. Matching cream lace bra and panties. Peers at me, like she needs glasses. Good thing. I’m no Adonis. Waves and smiles.

They’ll pull the shades.

But they don’t. Dancing and laughing.

“You find it, Hun?” Laurel calls from downstairs.

“I sure did!” I shout back. Maybe not the anti-acid. But this works.

Stomach better already. Knots gone. Butterflies instead. Heart pounding.

The little foxes turn away. Show over?

It’s not. They shake their tight asses at me.

This stuff happens to other guys. Not me. Married five years. District manager by day. MBA student at night. Wear suits. Drive a Volvo.

Topless girl squeezes her tits. Damn. My butterflies are free. Tingling down my spine.

Blonde girl rolls down her bra cups. Stops above her nips.  Motions me. Take it off! Old Metallica T-shirt falls to the floor. Can I get arrested for this? Other dorm windows dark. Shades down. Probably not.

Blondie unsnaps the bra. Perfect cone-shaped tits. Milky white tans lines. Tiny pink nipples, all screwed up tight and tall. Like pencil erasers. Bra hangs from fingertips.

Screw Netflix. Laurel’s gotta see this.

New song. Indie-pop. Girls arm in arm. High kicks. I know wet panties when I see them. Blondie’s gusset is soaked. Little yellow thong’s wet too.

And me? Cock unfurling like a flag in a hurricane. We haven’t fucked since packing up the old place.

“Laurel,” I shout. “I need you.”

“Can it wait?”

“Don’t think so!”

Footsteps on the stairs.

“What happened to the light?” she asks, blinking in the darkness. I guide her through the stacks of boxes.

“Where’s your shirt?”

“It’s hot.” Wrap my arm around her waist and point her to the window.

“Holy shit!”

“Our new neighbors. Better than ‘Orange is the New Black?’”

“Fuck, yeah,” Laurel replies. Mouth agape.

The girls are shocked. Not what they expected. But they don’t miss a step. Bend over and shake. I grab the hem of Laurel’s sweat shirt, and pull it over her head.

“What are you doing?”

“Reciprocity,” I say. “They show. We show.”

Laurel’s thirty-five. And very hot. Never hides her attraction to sexy women. I unsnap her bra. She doesn’t resist. Doesn’t hide her big tits either when they spill into view. Areola the size of silver dollars. More curves than back country highway.

“The toys?” I ask.

“Behind you. Carton says ‘incidentals.’” Voice deep and husky.

New song now. Viral synth and lots of tempo changes. Laurel’s into it. Her moves match the dancing girls. Flared hips thrust and grind under tight jeans.

I press the silver bullet into Laurel’s crotch seam. She keeps the rhythm. But the girls don’t. They stop and stare.

Laurel’s eyes close. Head tips back with a moan. I lift the vibe. She rides it like a bicycle seat. Her tits jingle. Body shakes.

The brunette leans out her window for a better view. The blonde vanishes. She reappears holding two pink Lollicocks. In a heartbeat, their shaved pubes and swollen pussy lips are in full view.

I pull down Laurel’s jeans and panties. Pungent aroma. Glide the vibe between puffy wet lips. Laurel yanks my shorts to the ground. Wraps her fingers around my bouncing cock. Girls watch. So intense.

No the time to tease. The girls hump their big toys. Pussies red and glistening. Laurel fucks the silver bullet. Jerks my cock. Frenzied rhythm that always gets me off.

Time stands still. Whimpers and moans blend with pulsing music. Laurel’s heavy-lidded eyes fix on the girls’ cunts. Their eyes shift between my cock and Laurel’s pussy.

Can’t be happening. But it is. Balls ache. Cock throbs. So many Babes. So many toys. Laurel moans. It catches in her throat. She’s about to cum.

Arches her back. Body rigid. Girls watching. My fingers push the vibe deep. Face blushing. Chest turning red.  Laurel wails. Grabs my shoulder. Nails digging deep. Gasping.

Her orgasm is contagious. The brunette pumps the Lollicock with both hands. Liquid runs down her thigh. Nipples about to explode. Eyes roll backwards.  A long, guttural moan. Her pretty face twists in beautiful agony.

Watching takes me over the edge. Laurel’s fingers wrap around the base of my shaft. Holding me back. At least long enough to aim out the window. Cock recoils, then fires. Again and again. Cum hangs in zero gravity. Like water from a fountain. A loud bellow. My own.

Blondie screams. Eyes closed. Lips parted. One hand squeezes nips. The other rams the Lollicock home. When she’s done, the girls kiss. Then go for another one. Laurel and I watch them convulse and writhe. We pant like tired puppies.

Laurel offers her lips to me. Her big blue eyes ablaze.

“Thanks big guy,” she says, milking the last drops from my cock.

“For what?”

“Not keeping this to yourself.”

We wave goodnight and stumble to the bath.

“Babe?” I ask. “Where’s the shower curtain?”