My fingers slowly thrust deep inside my saturated pussy as I watched the rising sun paint the night-darkened walls gray, then reddish orange, and finally a golden hue. When two of my fingers were inserted all the way inside, I curled them up to caress the interior of my canal, my palm pressing against my throbbing clit. The brisk, mountain air was light and pure, a complete contrast to the putrid, city air. Its sweetness and extra oxygen gave my impassioned moans a narcotic, euphoric effect. Swirling my fingers around, delighting in the squishing sounds my wetness made as it mixed with the birdsong and the wildlife’s gleeful chirps that drifted to my ears through the open windows, my free hand gently squeezed my breasts, tweaked my nipple, and enjoyed the tactile sensations through the fabric of the top I was still wearing—her shirt.

It was the very same t-shirt I had worn last night when my husband, at my urging, took me from behind. I pulled the soft cotton up over my boobs, bringing one of my nipples near my lips, so I could flick it with my tongue as I plunged my fingers harder and deeper into my cunt. Bent over the sill of the bay window, I had watched the sexiest, most seductive, man I’d ever met finger his lust-inducing, redheaded wife to orgasm in our driveway.

I stopped fucking my wet hole, wiggling my submerged fingers back and forth, humping my clit against my rigid palm, and looking at a picture of Christy on my phone; Plushtales was pulled up on the screen. In the photo, she was wearing the same shirt that I had on, her nipples sticking out proudly, dark circles showing around them. The perfect shape and swell of her breasts were outlined in strained cloth, making her look more enticing and desirable than if she were topless.

Removing my soaked hand from my dripping pussy, I rubbed my sex juice all over my face, tasting it, savoring it. I was on the cusp of orgasm once more, but I didn’t want to cum just yet. It was my first day in our new home, and, despite the lack of electricity, water, or gas service, and the fact that I was alone, I was enjoying the peace of the countryside.

John received his usual, “help us, there’s an IT disaster,” call before the sun had even begun to rise. It happened every weekend. I didn’t mind; we needed the overtime-money much more than I required my husband’s presence, oafishly hindering my unpacking, cleaning, and organizing.

My pussy was so wet that some of my nectar had dripped onto my anus. I stopped plunging my fingers into my needy hole and teased my ass, the wetness on my flesh and fingers acting as a natural lube. One of Christy Scarlet Whitehorn’s stories was now on my screen. In disbelief of her slutty, scandalous behavior, I fucked my ass, reading about her going sex-crazy and begging multiple people, both men and women, to ravage her and use her like a “fuck toy,” while her smiling husband, Glen, looked on, proudly.

The woman had to be psychotic. She gladly flashed her nude body to anyone that bothered to pay her even the smallest bit of attention. My neighbor was a total head-case. Creative and intelligent, she was a wanton whore, a nasty slut who was always horny, and yet, still, a positive person always willing to help others. I ignored the psychological enigma that she was and concentrated on her lush, florid, very detailed writing. Her prose, conversational and ephemeral, aroused my emotions and stimulated me.

Last night, I’d done things that I couldn’t believe and gone much further than I ever had, sexually. While not into women at all, she made me horny. I also wanted her husband, Glen. His sexiness, amazing physique, and addictive charm had me in a stupor. I plunged two fingers into my pussy once more, adding a single digit to my asshole. When my fingers were dripping, I traced lines of wetness all over my body, licking the last bits of cummy fluid from my fingers as I moaned.

John, my husband, always gets called into work over the weekends. As always, he grunted affirmations, saying he’d be right in. A few pecks on the forehead and some space-filling conversation, and he rushed out the door with a “love you,” straightening his tie and saying something that stuck in my mind.

“Oh, yeah,” he added as an afterthought. I usually don’t pay attention to his morning apologies, as I’m half-asleep. “Glen said he’d be over, first thing this morning, to look at the driveway. Love you. Bye.”

Glen-fucking-Whitehorn, the man that instantly made me horny, the person whose words rocked my soul and turned me on to the point that I was going out of my way to flirt with him and pose my body seductively, was going to be coming over. The psychologist in me scoffed at my feeble justification: yes, I’m married and would never think about cheating on my husband, but some harmless flirting and visual delight can’t hurt. The woman I am was on a quest to figure out if he was flirting with me, wanted me, or not.

Most of my morning had been spent pondering his wife, Christy. That bubble-headed bimbo was a real piece of work. While I felt a sort of affinity toward her, Christy’s antics personified every woman’s fantasies; there was no way she deserved a man like Glen. Nonetheless, I already had a husband. I ignored the fact that my pussy gushed at the very thought of Glen. The idea of his manly hands fondling my flesh made me sigh; thinking about those sexy, grayish, hazel eyes staring up at me as he licked my clit almost making me cum.

My neighbor, savior, hopefully, new friend, and lender of slutty clothes, Christy, had outlined what I needed to do in her stories. I read them, studied them, and masturbated over them; I knew exactly what strategy was required. If I want to know what Glen was feeling towards me, I had to up my ante, exponentially. Braless, with no panties, and utterly lacking any sense of decency or self-respect, was the way to go; if I wanted to catch his eye, I needed to stand out from all the other women. I’d spent the morning reading her stories, forum posts, and status updates. I’d need to be bold, brazen, and sexually flirtatious.

Finally achieving a state where my entire body reverberated with horny lust, I was so overwhelmed with passion that I no longer cared that I looked like a bottomless slut, my nipples showing through the shirt fabric, my sexual lube shimmering on my thighs. I smelled of sex, looked like dirty passion, and my mind was on sexual fire. When I heard his truck pull into the driveway, followed by his singing along with his radio, I fingered both of my holes furiously until I was a millisecond away from exploding in rapture. I forced my hands to stop abusing my sex and slowly walked downstairs to greet him.

Navigating the minefield of moving boxes and strewn-about possessions was quite an athletic challenge, especially when one is barefoot, hornier than they’ve ever been, and barefoot. I made it to the big bay window, the curtains still open and my borrowed shorts a crumpled mass on the floor. Oddly, the panties were nowhere to be seen. Although I hadn’t intended on wearing any, I wondered what had happened to them; they should have been with the shorts, exactly where I had left them, last night. Nobody else had been in the house. That meant that John, the little pervert, had taken them. 

I smiled at that. I was planning on strategically showing my body to my new neighbor and flirting hard with him; that hardly put me in a position to judge my husband for stealing Christy’s panties. My smile broadened when I saw Glen. 

He had his muscular back turned to me as he peeled off his tight t-shirt. His rippling muscles made my clit jump, and, as he shook out his long, blond hair, my nipples rose to the occasion. Half-hidden from view, using the wall as cover, I spied on him as he got on all fours, singing to his radio, and marked myriad cracks, damaged spots, and imperfections with chalk. His manhood, swelling nicely in his pants, looked enticing, although it would look so much better hammering into my pussy.

Unable to restrain my urges, not even wanting to, I fingered the wetness between my legs, staring at him in open lust. My hands squeezed my boobs, rewarding me with the sight of my nipples poking out from beneath the fabric. Gasping as he looked my way, smiling, I stood immobile, not even breathing. One hand was between my legs and the other was fondling my breast, but he looked back down to the concrete drive, seemingly unaware that I was masturbating while watching him through the window.

When my torrid heat again neared volcanic eruption, I forced myself to stop, my hips still bucking, legs still shaking, and stepped into his wife’s shorts. They were shorter than I wear, showing just a hint of my ass cheeks. However, subtlety was uncalled-for; I pulled them up until the crotch was firmly wedged between my dripping pussy lips, knowing that the action also made the back of the shorts rise to expose another inch or more of my ass cheek.

I tittered at my thoughts. Before last night, I’d hardly ever used a curse word. Now, I was saying, “fuck my cunt,” watching others get dirty while I got fucked, and masturbating while wearing another woman’s clothes. I laughed too loudly when I realized that I was masturbating while staring at that same woman’s husband. My outburst caused Glen’s head to snap up. His face brightened when he saw me. Shaking out that mane of hair, his piercing eyes scanning my soul, he gestured to me in a “come hither” movement, mirroring the motions my fingers had recently made while buried in my pussy.

Now or never, I thought to myself. I steeled my nerves and unlocked the door, finally primed and prepared to be the sluttiest I’ve ever been. His wife’s stories on Plushtales had shown me the way. Part of me agreed with Christy; it was, indeed, liberating to pull out all the slutty stops and go after what I wanted.

As I stepped out of the slightly darkened house, basking in the warm, mountain sunlight, Glen’s handsome face looked me up and down, his eyes roaming over my body. I wondered if he could see the evidence of my arousal glistening on my thighs, worried that he might find my obvious lack of brassiere to be too slutty. Who was I kidding? Christy was the penultimate whore!

His appraising stare warmed my body even more; he somehow managed to convey lust, appreciation, and safety all at once. I struggled for eternity, under his smiling scrutiny, fighting to find something to say.

He spoke first. “Tell me how you want it.”

Deep, hard, and brutal!

”Um, what?” I’ve never been at such a loss for words, before. My mind reeled at his words, immediately mutating the meaning into something sexual.

“The driveway,” he chuckled as his eyes roamed down my body, then slowly back up to meet my eyes. There was no shame in him; that was refreshing. “Do you want it in a brick pattern, smooth, hard stone, what?”

“Hard,” I confessed. “I like it hard.”

Glen stood, and I wondered why he made me so horny. “Well, then,” he produced his phone from his back pocket. “Tell me if you see anything you like.” I most certainly did.

Forcing myself to not blurt out, “fuck me, please,” I sidled up to him, breathing in his clean, manly, scent. He smelled like a magical forest, sexy, manly, and untamed. My hard nipples pressed into his arm as I leaned over his very broad shoulder to look at his screen. When my hand grasped his bicep, I swooned. His muscles felt like steel ingots tied together with iron cables. I sighed, reflexively, my exhalation making his hair sway.

“That one,” I declared as I pointed, pressing my tits hard against him, my overheated crotch nuzzling his hard butt. “I like that, but I want a brick border. Can you do that?”

He turned around, somehow avoiding the trap of my limbs strategically placed to capture him. His face, mere inches away from mine, that adorably-crooked, roguish smile dancing upon it, made me chew on my lower lip.

“I’d be honored to do anything you want, anything at all.” He paused, giving my mind time to come up with a few dozen things I’d like him to do. “Besides, I promised John that I’d satisfy you.”

“Y-yes, please,” I stammered. “Um, how much will this all cost? John and I spent every dime we had to get this rundown house.”

“Aah,” he chided, his hand delicately touching my arm as he moved. “This place is great. Sure, it needs some tender love and some rough treatment, but, like you, it has perfect structure, timeless beauty, and is perfection and artistry combined.”

“Don’t; stop,” I laughed. “If you keep that up, I just might think you’re seducing me.”

He shrugged, the muscles of his bare, perfect chest flexing. With the barest flash of a mischievous smile and a wink, he replied, “Okay, then; I won’t.”

Glen stayed for another ten minutes, utilizing that time to increase my intense arousal to an eruption of horny fervor. Everything he said seemed to contain innuendo, hints of us screwing each other’s brains out. I could barely talk, couldn’t concentrate, and, although I tried to avoid leering at him, my eyes were magnetically drawn to his body, his perfect face, those muscles, and that mammoth bulge in his pants.

Promising me that he’d “free up as much time as needed to make me happy,” he told me that he’d have the estimate ready this evening when John and I came over for dinner because it wouldn’t be neighborly for them to feast knowing that we had no way to cook a meal.

“John’s gone for the day, for work, and probably won’t be back until very late.”

”Just you, then? Say, seven, seven-thirty?”

I nodded, afraid to speak in case I clamored out, “I need your cock.” Bending at the waist in a sort of mock bow, he delicately took my hand and kissed the back of it, those heart-melting eyes of his staring into mine. My hand was covered in my pussy juice; I’m sure he tasted it. I watched in a daze as he turned to get into his truck. My heart pounded in time with his steps.

”Wait! What should I wear?”

He beamed at me, his eyes drinking me in. I liked it, a lot. “Anything you desire.”

He drove off, headed east. As soon as he’d left, I ran inside, not even bothering to close the door, and jammed one hand down my shorts, touching myself as I brought Plushtales back up on my phone. I quickly found the picture of Glen’s penis, his cock, and vigorously masturbated, fantasizing about wrapping my lips around its thick head and what it would feel like to have that huge monster impaling my dripping cunt.

As I neared orgasm, a chime rang out on my phone. I’d received a message from somebody. Stopping my self-love with a sigh, I opened my message and discovered that Christy Scarlet Whitehorn, herself, had emailed me. “I see you’ve been reading a lot of my stories,” it began, “I’d appreciate any feedback, critiques, or pointers.” It was signed with, “Kisses, Christy.” 

My body and mind froze in panic. Not knowing what to do or how to handle things, I decided that honesty was the best policy. 

”Hi, Chris; it’s your neighbor, Lyn. I LOVE your stories. They’re so hot and written so well.” I sent the message, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

Thinking that she’d read it and chuckle, maybe respond in due time, I went back to fantasizing about her husband. I divided my time between masturbating over one of her myriad flashing and exhibitionism stories and masturbating over her pictures and those of her husband. I’d just gotten deep into a “what if” fantasy based on Glen and me, earlier, when she responded.

“I’m so sorry about last night. We should have waited until we got home, but I couldn’t help myself; he turns me on so much. I hope you can forgive me for getting naughty in front of your house, and that you’re not offended.”

“You didn’t see?”

“See what? Now, I’m very intrigued.”

I don’t know why, but I laughed at how silly I was being. I shouldn’t be sharing such things online, let alone online with my neighbor. “John was taking me from behind while I watched you.”

There was a long pause on my screen, then, “That’s so fucking hot. That made me so wet. Did he get off watching us?”

The psychologist in me warned that if I took the next step, I’d be past the point of no return. “He didn’t see you.”

“Oh…kinky. So, you’re not offended?”

I didn’t just take that step into the twilight zone, I dove, headlong, into it. “Not at all. I was so horny that after he finished, I stayed up and played with myself, reading your stories while wearing your shirt.”

“All you’d need is a mirror. You look 100 times hotter in that shirt than I do.”

“Which reminds me. I think your husband saw me masturbating this morning.”

“What, did he walk in on you?”

I blushed. “No. I was kind of standing in the window and…” Do I confess that it was intentional? Do I play it coy and pretend? What if her writing was only that, a fantasy?

“I get it!” she added before I finished typing. “You wanted him to see! You naughty slut; that’s so hot. You’ve got Glen fever.”

“Glen fever?” I ignored her accurate intuition.

“Women go nuts over him, hit on him all the time, acting like huge sluts right in front of me. It’s surreal. I call it Glen fever.”

I needed to change the topic before I blurted out that I wanted to fuck her husband. “Need help with making dinner? John’s away working, so I can help you. It sounds better than unpacking.”

“I’ll be right over to help you,” she responded. “Glen’s cooking, tonight.”

She was across the highway and peeking in my door before I’d even thought about putting on some other clothes. She was dressed in a very short, hippie dress that showed her legs up to the top of her thighs, was mostly backless, and allowed her breasts to jiggle freely. Other than some flat sandals, there wasn’t another stitch of clothing on her. In her company, the day went quickly. Glen was a main topic of conversation, as she’d launch into a tear-filled recount of his romantic gestures and thoughtfulness at the slightest provocation.

I didn’t know what to make of her; ambivalence didn’t quite describe it. I loved her and envied her attitude and positive outlook, but everything about her, her life, was so damn perfect that it pissed me off. My only potential friend lived in her own little fairy tale dream world, at least somewhat vaguely aware of how outrageous she was.

Finally, after getting far too comfortable with her, as it seemed like we were long-term friends, I blurted out, “but it doesn’t matter. You’re so perfect for each other, so hot, and it isn’t like I could fuck his brains out without it causing drama between us.”

She smiled, ignoring what I said or, perhaps, reading the embarrassment on my face. Christy changed the topic, asking me about my plans for the home, and my life with John, and, before I knew it, we had the entire house unpacked, organized, and mostly cleaned.

Later, we sat nude, in her gazebo, having recently taken a quick dip in the nearby pond to cool off, sipping wine. I had a load of my clothing in her dryer but was enjoying being au naturel outdoors. I could have never gotten away with that in the city.

“Tell me,” I said as I sipped, “are you really as wild as you seem to be in your stories?”

She laughed, her breasts jiggling nicely. For all her praise of my physical features, she had a better body than most teenagers. “I tried, for decades, to be subdued, tame, and normal. That just isn’t the life the Goddess created me for.”

Goddess? Oh, that’s right, she’s a witch-bitch. Of course, she’s a witch; guys get all horny for them because they’re wilder in bed. Life is so unfair.

She prattled on, her voice a combination of lusty exuberance and whorish shrillness. “If it’s the life I’m destined to live, I may as well do it properly.”

With that round of laundry done, I finally had some clothes of my own to wear. Christy was gracious enough to let me take a long, luxurious bubble bath and use her makeup. Our nude wine-tasting turned into two bottles, with lots of edibles to give them extra gusto. By the time Glen got home, the both of us were giggling like school girls, incredibly horny, and looking to take it out on him.

Dinner was fantastic and the company even better. The entire time, Glen kept up with his innuendo, and I shot it right back. He worked in sexual tension like an artist worked in clay or oil paints; it was his medium. I ate it all up, along with his excellent cooking, and begged for seconds, then thirds. I was happy, horny, stoned, and silly, and loving every second of it.

As we lounged around outside, a nice fire in front of us, my cell phone rang. “Oh, look,” I exclaimed holding up my phone. Christy and I shared a laughing fit. “It’s my wayward husband.”

I answered my phone. “Hello, you pervert. How’s your day?” I listened to my husband lament about his day, eventually telling me that he was on his way and should be home in a little over thirty minutes. My attention was mostly on Christy and Glen. As soon as I answered the phone, she straddled his lap, her ass exposed, and began kissing him passionately, writhing over his lap. Her soft, whimpering moans made me jealous.

“Okay, love you,” I hung up the phone. I turned to Christy.

“John’s such a perv,” I told her. “After we, um,” I paused, “you know, last night? Well, I think he stole your panties.”

She broke off their torrid smooch with a laugh, turning on his lap to face me. “What a pervert! I love it, so hot.”

“What am I missing,” Glen chuckled.

“Well,” I began, embarrassed. I asked Christy, “Should I tell him?”

“I was going to wait until later and tell him myself,” her face waxed lusty. “Hoping that maybe it would make him horny for me.”

“If that’s your goal,” Glen stared into her eyes. “You succeeded the second I got home. You’re amazing. I want you more than you'll ever realize”

“We were having sex in the living room,” I blurted out, laughing. “Breaking in the new house, and my perverted husband stole your wife’s panties I’d borrowed.”

Glen laughed outrageously, setting off another giggling fit between Christy and me. “Can’t say I blame him one bit,” Glen managed. “I would have, too.”

“Really?” Christy mused. “You’re siding with the lingerie thief?”

“Fuck, yes.” He caressed her bare flesh as he spoke. “The both of you are physical perfection, amazing, alluring women, and knowing that those panties touched the flesh of either of you two would be enough to warrant claiming them as a trophy. The thought that those sexy bits of lace touched the bodies of you both is enough to make any man’s heart explode.”

With hugs and kisses, I excused myself and made it back to our house. With some candles for light, my phone in hand, I sat on the couch, awaiting John. Giving in to temptation, Plushtales once more lit up my screen. Christy published another story, titled Meeting The Neighbors. Intrigued, I read it.

The story was hot, and my pussy grew saturated after the first few paragraphs. My neighbor detailed our first meeting from her point of view. According to her, I was brilliant, “sexy as fuck,” and had one of the best bodies she’d ever seen. She also fantasized about what it would be like to have sex with me. I recalled the events of the prior evening, reliving them as she retold the tale. Anticipating what was coming, I had my shorts peeled off and my fingers dancing over my clit before I’d even gotten to the part where Glen had dinner delivered.

My hand was rubbing my pussy in earnest as I read. I’d forgotten all about John until he burst through the door, slightly startling me.

“Hi, honey, I’m ho…” his words trailed off as he saw me. I probably looked extremely sexy with my legs spread wide, fingers assaulting my dripping hole and clit, and candlelight giving everything a warm, romantic glow.

Without a word, my husband smiled at me, a look of lust on his face, and began disrobing.

“Not so fast, you pathetic pervert,” I commanded, holding up one hand. My pussy was so soaked that tendrils of my sex juice dripped from my fingers. “I know you took Christy’s panties. Give them back, now.”

“B-but…honey…I’d never…”

“Stop lying. Pull them out and put them in your perverted, dirty mouth.”

“I will not…”

“NOW!”

I’d never been this assertive in my entire life. Remarkably, he obeyed. John’s face was awash with shame, but he pulled the frilly, lacy panties out of his front pocket and place them in his mouth. I decided to push the gauntlet. I spread my legs even wider, my hand vigorously playing with my clit and fingering my dew-heavy cunt.

“Now, crawl to me on your hands and knees. You’re a bad boy, stealing our neighbor’s panties, and you deserve punishment.” I was amazed that he did as I asked. John’s face was pure passion, submission in his eyes.

“Stop there and shove your face against my cunt, but don’t lick.”

I positioned myself to get the perfect angle, found it, and held his head in place with my nectar-covered hand, my juices coating his hair. Swirling my hips around, I humped the panties against my pussy, his mouth holding them in place.

“I saw you staring at her all night,” I told him as I continued reading her story. “Did you whack off to her? Do you want to fuck her instead of me, your wife? Is that why you stole her panties.”

“Mmmph, ummph,” John protested. To quiet him, I pushed his face hard against my gyrating pussy and was rewarded with some bits of lace stimulating my clit.

“You stay quiet, your little fucking pervert. Too bad you were gone, today. I had dinner over at their house, got a little drunk, and Christy was wearing a short dress without panties.”

He groaned into my crotch.

“No panties for you to steal, though. Did you know that she trims her pubic hair; she’s a natural redhead.

He grunted and groaned more, but I paid him no heed. “Naughty boy. Now hold yourself still until I cum.”

I went back to reading, my breathing coming in impassioned gasps. When I finally got to the part in the story where she peeled off Glen’s shirt and got fingered at the end of our driveway, my body exploded with an intense orgasm that took my breath away. My legs shook, squeezing my husband’s head so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. My breasts broke out in sweat like liquid fire, causing my nipples to tingle with sexual heat.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming,” I swore, sounding very much like Christy according to what I’d just read. I rode the orgasmic waves, losing myself in bliss, finally coming back to earth.

John stood up, then, undoing his pants.

“No, you don’t. You’re being punished. You love her slutty panties so much, jerk off into them while I watch.”

“But, I want you.”

“Punishment, you little fuck. You don’t get my cunt, tonight. Little perverts get to whack off in panties. Now, do it.”

Shrugging and blushing, he wrapped the lacy undergarment around his dick and started pumping it up and down.

“Does it make you horny knowing our neighbor is a slutty little whore? I bet you fantasized about her tits all day. She does have a perfect ass, though. Would you like to spank it? I bet you want something even dirtier, don’t you?”

That was all it took. John started panting, his hand a blur. Moaning and grunting like he always does, I watched in dismay as he shot his pathetic wad into Christy’s panties. I counted five sputs before he slumped over, spent, the panties falling out of his hands.

“Now, go to bed, you little pervert. I’ll be up when I’m done reading, or maybe go for a midnight walk, first.”

“That was intense. I love you.”

“No, no; leave the panties.”

I suppressed a giggle as he forlornly trudged up the stairs. Returning to my reading, browsing her pictures, I went back to her most recent story and left the comment, “so hot. I feel like I was literally there!” A few minutes and another orgasm later, I decided to return the now-twice-soiled panties. I thought Christy would get a sexual charge out of what I did. With the wet, sticky, gooey trophy in hand, I left the house and crossed the street. I was in no way prepared for what I saw when I got there. As I rounded the bend in their stone drive, the fire and both of them came into view. My jaw dropped when I saw what they were doing.

To be continued…