Dinner with the Salingers

We often enjoy our dinners with the Salingers.

We eat out together every month, or so at a restaurant in town. We don't have a special haunt. We enjoy Thai sometimes, other times, its Italian. Honestly though, it's each other's company that we most like to savour.

Mrs. Salinger, although a most dependable neighbour, remains somewhat of an enigma to me. We rarely see her for an extended period, Robert and me, until we all come together for an evening out. She does not strike me as a particularly sociable woman. The extent of her pleasantries is the customary "Morning, Jane!" she graces me with when she comes out to collect the post, as I see my children off to school. But, it is on our excursions together that she comes to life. Suddenly, she becomes vibrant and chatty -a world away from the dull, restrained housewife who so dutifully checks the mailbox at 8:30 every morning.

Her husband, Tom, however, is a hearty fellow. His loud bellows of laughter permeate the walls of our home often, as do the deep grunts and groans of his lovemaking in the quiet, wee hours of the morning. He is such an enthusiastic lover, so much so, that Robert and I can't help but make love ourselves to the tune of it. And what a time we've had! Whenever Tom Salinger's guttural moans travel, albeit muffled across our yards and then through the walls, they ignite a small spark in our bed. Once we overcame the novelty of being so naughty an audience, we not only were drawn in, but also unexpectedly drawn together by it. I remember the first night that Robert's hot fingers closed around mine under the sheets, before he pulled them to his stiffening cock. I had fondled him for a bit through the fabric of his cotton boxers, my ears keen to every groan and then, eventually, through the open slit in the front, as my own excitement grew, to match his. Before we knew it, we were up and at it like our neighbours next door. Strangely enough, though, we never once heard a peep from Mrs. Salinger.

On the mornings after we'd listened in on them, I would always look closely at Mrs. Salinger for any tell tales signs of euphoria from the night before, as she collected her letters. It seemed that I wanted conformation, of sorts, that she had actually had sex. To me, she certainly didn't look the type, if ever there was such a thing. Yes, she was the mother of two wonderful sons who were away at University, but still, I just couldn't picture her, in well... so compromising a position. She was always dressed in a no nonsense fashion and on the few occasions when she did speak, outside of the restaurant setting, it was always in a very matter of fact sort of way. I did remark to Robert, though, that I never once noticed panties on the clothesline... I arrived at the grand conclusion that she didn't wear any, as every Saturday morning, without fail, there would be six brilliant white, broad strapped heavy-duty brassieres side by side on the line, but not a single pair of panties. Ever. I found it exceedingly odd. Mrs. Salinger was a buxom woman, who from my keen observations kept her breasts under great restraint. Robert, of course dismissed my comments as a little obsessive, but I insisted to him, that we women just know these things. And of course, I fully believe I am right. Robert in a desperate effort to change the subject suggested that maybe she hangs her panties indoors. He said that he really doesn't like to think about Mrs. Salinger's panties any at all...

As much as Mrs. Salinger and I aren't particularly sociable, save for the odd pleasantries now and then over a borrowed cup of sugar, her husband, Tom and my Robert get along famously. Many Saturday mornings have been spent by the two, chattering over the fence about the sorts of things that men like to talk about when out in the yard- the sorts of things, I suppose, that would do little to harness female interest for the most part... Inevitably, it came to be that Tom invited us all out one day. He took us down to the harbour one Sunday to look at his brand new boat. Turns out that Tom was quite the seaman in his younger years and he was exceptionally proud of his new purchase that he had saved for years to make. So off we all went, children in tow for what turned out to be a marvellous day. It was from that point onwards that we started to socialize outside of our yards, but in increasing frequency without the children. I myself, was grateful for the restful respite from home, something that was becoming increasingly rare (and exceeding annoying...) and Robert, well, he was just plain happy to have me get out of the house, too.

So, our first restaurant visit came a couple of months there after. I made much more of it than was necessary, having been unable to get out much, if any at all, up until that point. I went into town and bought a nice dark dress, that I decided would look elegant but not overly dressy. I was quite curious to see what it was that Mrs. Salinger would be wearing, having never seen her in anything but dull, cotton housedresses. That evening, I walked into the restaurant to see a woman I hardly recognized. Her slightly greying blonde hair was curled; she wore blush and bright red lipstick. Her eyes were lined with kohl in a very 1960s Marilyn Monroe-esque way, with lashes so seductively long, it seemed there was a faint breeze coming off them whenever she blinked. Up until that point, I hadn't really noticed how very pretty she was. Her décolletage was magnificently displayed in an emerald green silk dress that merely served to showcase her flawless, creamy white complexion. Well that and her splendidly enormous breasts. She looked absolutely stunning and I told her that much. She was gracious as always of course, and politely repaid the complement, though I had trouble believing it in the diminishing spotlight of her beauty.

The evening was a wonderful one and surprisingly lively, too. Mrs. Salinger spoke more than I had ever heard her do in the two years we have been neighbours, regaling us with tales of her days as a young navy wife. When she giggled, her breasts did, too, and in such a way that all the eyes at the table were helplessly drawn to them- mine in disbelief, Tom and Robert's in deep admiration. A swift kick under the table soon retrained Robert's eyes above Mrs. Salinger's neckline, and he offered me that silly apologetic grin of his. When we got back home that I night, I gushed some more about how incredibly lovely Mrs. Salinger looked and Robert couldn't help but agree- although I suspected for entirely different reasons. He confirmed my suspicions when he said that he finally knew what it was Tom was making all that ruckus about in the early morning hours. I had to agree...

And it so happened that night we were again treated to Tom's happy chorus. He was particularly enthusiastic, so much so, that I feared for my sleeping children's delicate ears. Robert reassured me that they would no doubt sleep through it all, but still I couldn't resist the urge to check in on them. I returned to find Robert stark naked masturbating a magnificent erection by the open window. Strains of Tom's groans floated in through the window, filling our bedroom. Robert asked me if I wanted to make love downstairs, by the back door. He thought that we might better hear the happenings there. With an erection like the one he was sporting, I couldn't help but oblige. I shucked off my nightie and made my way over to him. I've never worn a bra to bed... nor panties, for that matter. Stark naked, we made our way downstairs, and along the passageway to the kitchen before reaching the door that opens to the backyard. Robert propped it open with a chair and we sat on the cool tiled floor listening to the groans filling our yard. We tried desperately to discern even a glimpse of the goings on, but their curtains were tightly drawn. As always, it was an auditory performance.

I had Robert's cock in hand, gently massaging his shaft. The night birds were out, with the occasional twitter as they fluttered from branch to branch. Their sounds soothed and relaxed me, as did the chirping of the crickets. I felt a little vulnerable sitting naked in the doorway the way we were and I leaned against Robert. I pressed my knees together trying to keep my privates just that, although I knew it was hardly likely that anyone could see us there in the dark. He put a most welcome arm around me. Together, we listened to our neighbour making love.

Tom grunts were guttural and laced with lots of heavy breathing. We agreed that we could hear furniture shifting- there was a heavy thud that came with every groan and we assumed, every stroke. We giggled together for a bit, but soon grew quiet as our desire mounted. I felt Robert plant a small kiss on the top of my head and then pull my face to his for a deep tender kiss. I kissed Robert back. My pussy was already wet from just imagining Tom & his wife in rapturous action, but now I throbbed for want of Robert and his very evident need. I pulled his hands down between my thighs, so that he could play in the copious moisture that had seeped out of me there. He slipped a finger into me, finger fucking me for a spell until desire got the better of us. I climbed onto his lap, straddled him quickly and then planted myself firmly on his rigid cock.

It was a hot, still summer night and thankfully one with a new moon that protected our dying modesty. We made love like that, two silhouettes made one in the dark doorframe, serenaded by Tom Salinger. His moans grew in intensity, as they always did and we timed our dance to his. Robert whispered in my ear that he wished to take me from behind. I got up and was about to kneel when he indicated that he wanted me standing. I braced my arms against the doorframe, leaning slightly forward so that he could enter me. The ascent of his cock into my pussy was exquisite. Robert licked the back of my neck, as he thrust into me, his hands planted firmly on my hips. Soon, I had to reach down between my legs to play with myself.

We were both keen to Tom's groans, very much entranced and swimming in his ecstasy. It seemed that Tom was having the fuck of his life. The grunts that travelled across our yard now did not seem to punctuate effort; instead they implied a deep primal pleasure, so sporadic and guttural were his cries. This time, though, when Tom's ecstatic cries approached a crescendo, a moan escaped my lips. Never one to be especially vocal when coupling, I think Robert was pleasantly taken aback. I brazenly whispered to Robert that I wanted him to fuck me. It was completely out of character for me, even though I do enjoy sex immensely. The feeling of hanging out the door, completely naked, was so liberating, and so very exhilarating that I just did not want to hold back. I wailed and cried out, too, matching Tom with my raucous caterwauling. Robert, it seemed liked that a lot, so much so that he pounded me right into a boisterous orgasm where I clamoured and begged out loud for his cock, my voice no doubt travelling well across our quiet yard.

In the stillness of the night, it seems my senses caught up to me as I came down from my orgasm. I didn't hear a thing coming from the Salingers yard and my heart was thundering in my chest as Robert drove his cum home. I felt him shuddering behind me, gripping me so fiercely that I feared he would break me, so violent was his climax. I stood as steady as I could, accepting every stroke, waiting an eternity for him to be still. I was fixated on knowing whether we had been discovered. I voiced my concerns to Robert, when he finally was still, so very distraught over how I would ever be able to face them in the morning. Robert was unperturbed. He said that he really couldn't see what I was fussing about, that we'd had a marvellous time. He went on to add, that if offence were to be taken, the Salingers would hardly have grounds. He disengaged himself, took my hand and told me he was going to bed. Irritatingly, I could find nothing to the contrary to add to Robert's remarks and so I joined him there. To my surprise, I had a most restful sleep.

Over the next few days, I searched Mrs. Salinger's face and studied her customarily detached behaviour for any signs of disapproval. The most I could discern was the smudge of a lingering grin when she told me good morning. I was desperate to know if she had heard us. For the life of me, I just couldn't fathom why she mattered so much to me, especially considering that I already knew so much of her own personal business. It also bewildered me that I was so turned on by their nocturnal activities, and the itch to know more about them was driving me mad. Their behaviour, to me, seemed completely out of character for an older, conservative looking couple. I couldn't help but wonder if all this started with them when their boys went off to school; they couldn't possibly have been so rowdy with children at home. I confessed all this to Robert one night in bed. As I well expected he would, he told me I was making much of nothing and that I should really leave their business alone. Still, I was desperately curious as to why we never, not once heard so much as a groan from Mrs. Salinger. Robert concluded that Tom was a screamer and that his wife was not. He suggested that perhaps she did moan, but restrained herself like a certain someone he knows who did the exact same thing up until very recently. I glared at him. That night, we heard nothing from them. But over the next few nights, it was especially noisy. More so at our house.

Robert and I were becoming more and more adventurous thanks to the Salingers. Instead of being so confined to our bed, we were now at it all over the house. It got to the point that one night, we ventured right out into the middle of the yard and made love in the grass, right under a birch. We left a lamp on in the house that bathed us in a soft, filtered light as we lay there, blissfully oblivious to the outside world. Thankfully, the bugs were kind to us and we escaped with only a few small bites. We were not especially noisy though; by this time, I think the novelty was wearing off on us. For us, now, it was about reclaiming the sexual spontaneity we had lost with the arrival of our beautiful children. I felt like a brand new, sexually charged woman. As for Robert... well, I believe he was enjoying the brand new, sexually charged woman who was gracing his bed once more.

It was on this evening after a wonderful session of lovemaking, still basking in that tender afterglow that we heard strains of Tom's groans again. We glanced over at their yard.

Their curtains were open. Wide open.

Robert and I could not help but wonder if they had intentionally been left that way. It was not something that we had ever seen them do before. We crept closer, forgetting that we were completely naked, until we were leaning against the fence. The sight of a bare-breasted Mrs. Salinger greeted us in her beautifully dressed dining room window. Before her, on his knees was Tom. She was fucking him with what looked like a massive strap-on cock.

Well, my eyes were like saucers, but I just couldn't pull them away. Aside from the shocking plundering Tom Salinger was receiving, I was amazed by Mrs. Salinger's breasts. They were most definitely the largest I had ever seen, and they flapped softly against her belly as she worked. The strap on that was laced about the folds of her belly and between her large pale thighs riveted me. It was black and shiny in stark contrast to her complexion; shiny, I suppose from copious amounts of lube, and it measured, in my estimation a good eight inches. Robert's animated comments floated right past my ears as I watched Mrs. Salinger plunge into her husband's ass over and over with deep and deliberate precision. I could see that Tom was quite obviously excited by it all; his cock stood stiff in front of him and his balls were drawn up into a tight pink bulge that melded into his generous shaft. Mrs. Salinger was giving it to him good and hard- so much so, that he was rocking on his knees from her exertions. I searched Tom's face. I was incredulous of his pleasure. To my surprise, though, I could see that he really did like it, so much so, that he met her thrusts, easing himself up and down that enormous rubber shaft. I turned to Robert, insisting that we had seen too much, that my curiousity had now been satisfied at the expense of my tender sensibilities. I demanded we go inside. Robert rubbished my protests. With a broad grin, he said that he never would have thought that Tom Salinger would've been the type, but good on him for letting go. I said nothing but turned to the window again, just in time to catch a wink from Tom and a big friendly wave from Mrs. Salinger.

Robert waved back, as I slunk under the hedge in a hot flush of embarrassment. I could not believe this was happening although it was now abundantly clear that they wanted us to watch. Truth be told- I so desperately wanted to see- and so I found my feet again. I slipped my hand around Robert's stiffening cock and brought him off in our Azaleas as we watched the Salingers. The sight of Tom's cum squirting out the end of his cock as his wife fucked him in the ass is one that I doubt I'll ever forget. I can't think of one single thing that could possibly make me wetter.

Well, I didn't see Mrs. Salinger the next day, as it was Saturday, and so no post to collect. However our husbands spoke over the fence on Sunday as they did their weekly yard chores. Robert informed me that they were inviting us out for dinner next Saturday. We fully suspected that this time dinner would be a little different, courtesy of our recent unexpected encounter and so we carefully weighed our decision before telephoning them our acceptance. I finally admitted to Robert (and myself) how much the Salingers sexually excited me... and well, Robert was of the sort always open to new things...

Robert and I enjoyed frenzied lovemaking in the days leading up to the dinner. We openly exchanged noisy notes with our neighbours and even treated each other to a few live shows over the fence we shared. My face was red and hot the first time I took Robert's cock in my mouth in a public audience but when he slid into my wet pussy, the thought of the Salingers eyes all over us made me wild with desire. By the time Saturday finally arrived, I was primed for our encounter, craving so desperately to go all the way with them.

I wore no panties to the restaurant and was wet with anticipation by the time we were seated. I stroked Robert's semi-erection discreetly under the table until the Salingers arrived. We greeted each other warmly, but made no mention of our erotic activities over the past week. Not until Tom reached over and openly cupped his wife's breast as she passed me the salt. I gathered the prominent nipple grazing his arm as she reached across him was nothing short of irresistible. It endeared me to see that there was still so much sexual tension between them, even after all those years of marriage. It made my pussy throb a little harder when Tom's lips tenderly brushed his wife's ear as he reached over to tuck up a runaway curl. I reached under the table for Robert again. His cock was unzippered and standing tall out of his fly. . I watched the Salingers smile as I took the fork from Robert's hand, rested it on his plate and then brazenly guided his fingers under the table to my crotch. The Salingers' eyes were locked at the edge of the table, so clearly knowing what we both enjoyed underneath. After a few blissful moments, evidenced by tightly pursed lips, I took Robert's wet fingers from my pussy and smeared them brazenly across his lips. We all watched him taste me. I knew then, we all wanted to taste each other, too.

The ride back to the Salinger's house was hazy to me. All I can remember is sitting in the car seat with my dress up about my waist and my feet on the dashboard. I had trimmed my pussy carefully, wanting to look as presentable as I could for the company we'd be entertaining, and Robert was basking in my efforts. Trimmed low, my juices spread easily to coat my swollen lips and Robert's fingers were squelching in and out of me by the time we pulled up in the driveway. I was so horny, I was gagging for it. I told Robert as much. He squeezed my hand.