Hotter After Dark

He'd seen her in all kinds of lingerie. He'd seen her use nipple clamps, leather boots, even a tiny electrode she used on her tits and clit. One time, apropos of nothing, she showed up with some crazy-looking blue thing that turned out to anal beads on a handle! At one point, when she was there almost every night, he realized he hadn't watched porn in weeks, which was the longest he'd gone since he discovered girls.

She didn't always rely on the blinds—he'd seen her head, but not her face. Whenever she did something that required a lot of movement, she always wore a shiny black mask that covered her whole face. She wore her long brunette hair in either a ponytail or some elaborate up-do to keep it out of her way. Something about her—the way she stood, the way she moved—seemed familiar, though by the time Patrick noticed it, he figured it was just because he'd been masturbating with her all summer. One of the proudest moments of his life was when he'd changed his online relationship status to "It's Complicated," though in reality it was quite simple: roundabout midnight, be at the window, be rock-hard (never a problem), and brace yourself.

She only gave him yes-or-no responses, usually in the form of performing whatever type of masturbation he requested. The only times she ever really refused was when he asked if they could meet, if he could come over or if she could come over to his room. She refused to give her identity.

One night, he really pushed the issue, and she was gone for nearly two weeks. He was sure he'd lost her, and had learned an agonizing lesson by the time she reappeared. He was disappointed, but at the same time, relieved to have moved past it. God, he'd cum hard that night, hard enough to reset his priorities. If he kept asking questions, he'd lose her. That seemed clear enough. The more he thought about it, the more he decided the mystery was a key part of the allure. He never stopped wondering, however, especially in quiet moments at work or riding his bike or when he was trying to learn a new song. He even spent an entire afternoon staring at the covered window, wondering if she'd put in a rare daytime appearance. She never did.

July came and went and he still hadn't figured out how she was getting in and out, but he decided he'd better leave that be as well. If he started getting too inquisitive again, she might not come back at all.

Toward the end of the summer, their new favorite ritual was to open their windows so they could hear one another. It was faint, especially on windy nights, but if he held his breath, the only sounds he could hear were his own fapping and the gooshy wetness of her fingers or whatever toy she was using tracing and plundering her silky pink folds. He could hear the low whine of her vibrators. Now and then he could even make out her panting or the small, high grunts she unleashed as she brought herself over the edge.

One especially sticky, sweaty night, they were in the throes of their separate-yet-united passion with the windows wide open. Her pussy was so sopping wet, Patrick was sure his other neighbors would be able to hear her if they happened to walk outside. He was mumbling under his breath as he stroked himself.

She'd made it clear that she was impressed with his size. He wasn't sure if she was just being nice, but he'd compared himself to enough porn guys to know he wasn't exactly working with a matchstick. She loved it when he turned sideways to give a profile view of his package as he stroked himself nice and slow, just the way she liked. He was pushing his window just a little bit wider, one hand on his cock, and lifting one leg to the sill to give her a full view when his hand slipped. Then his foot caught in the underwear encircling his ankles. A split second of panic, then he was falling.

-4-

He'd managed to catch himself on a low limb of the tree, but it was a good twenty foot drop. He'd broken both wrists, four fingers, an elbow, bruised his right ribs, and given himself a hell of black eye to top it all off. That wasn't even the worst of it.

He'd had to crawl to his own porch and get his parents' help while basically ass naked, so his entire family had seen him nude (he claimed he was opening the window after getting out of the shower, but he suspected they didn't believe him), and, the kicker: due to the casting of his arms, he wouldn't be able to beat off for two months. He'd tried to devise something he could hold stationary and then fuck, but even if he had come up with a good enough idea, he lacked the dexterity to build it. He was sure his whole crotch would explode, like someone threw a cigarette into a used fireworks stand only even more dangerous and nowhere near as fun.

There was also his crushing humiliation. She'd seen him fall. What did she think of him now? Would she show up again? Even if she did, what was he supposed to do?

Sure enough, a couple nights after the incident, she was back. This time she'd brought paper and a marker. He couldn't really write back, of course, but then she could clearly see why not. She expressed sympathy for him, and apologized for her part. She was glad he wasn't hurt worse. She even asked how his cock was. He nodded at the bulge she always made in his shorts. He bet she could even see the dark spot of pre-cum. He tried to take comfort in the fact that at least he hadn't hurt his dick, but in a way that was even worse. It was just standing there, and he had no choice but to ignore it, despite its absolute refusal to be ignored, especially at this particular moment.

She masturbated for him, gave him a real show, but he wasn't able to do anything for himself. This time, before closing the blind, she bent down and blew him a kiss.

He went to bed that night, feeling utterly defeated. He may have cried a little, though he wouldn't even admit that to himself. Surely his nights of fun were over. In less than two weeks, he was off to school in another state. He might—hell, he'd probably—never see her again in his life. He always knew it had to end; he just hadn't expected it to be like this.

She wasn't there the next night, or the one after that. Five nights went by without a sign of her. He tried not to be too hurt, but he was just gutted whenever he thought about it. He'd had this amazing thing, this unimaginable thing, and in one blink, he'd fucked it all up. He had to honest with himself—he'd fallen in love with her, at least a little bit. And she'd given up on him. She wasn't there, so close it almost seemed he could touch her, because she off playing her little games with some other lucky bastard. That was what the blown kiss meant, he decided: 'goodbye.' He couldn't hold up his end (literally) so she was done with hers. Sweet though it was, it just wasn't the right ending. It gave him no sense of closure. He moped around the house, absent-mindedly packing for college. She couldn't let it end this way. Could she?

-5-

The night before he left for school, Patrick fought hard against his increasingly heavy eyelids. He kept staring at the window, certain, absolutely positive, that she must know he was leaving. She had to be there one last time, just one more. Even if he couldn't beat off, he just wanted to see her one last time, then he could accept that it was all over. Despite his best efforts, he was sound asleep before ten o'clock, his hair fluttering on the breeze from his long-watched window.

He awoke to a sound outside. A brief scraping, distinctly metallic. An oddly rhythmic sound of something groaning against the vinyl siding. Outside his window. The crazy thought occurred to him that someone was breaking in. Then he saw the mask, the hair, the black robe, the familiar fingers for once pressed to the glass of his window, pushing it wide enough for her to fit though.

He was positive this was a dream, even though when he bit his tongue it really hurt. He didn't care. Here she was, in his room, the familiar mask, the delicious swish of her robe sliding away to reveal her curvaceous, moonlit figure, the one he'd imagined touching so many times it seemed his skin remembered her.

She slinked toward the bed, smiling, stark naked except for the shimmering mask, which reminded him of Catwoman's but with better coverage. He realized as she came near enough for him to feel her heat on his bare chest that her appearance wasn't all he recognized. He knew that scent!

It had been a while, but it was unmistakable. Something from his childhood. Someplace he'd been a hundred times. Not just a person, but a place. It was on the tip of his brain, but as his wheels turned toward it, her lips were on his purpled eye, his lips, his ear.

"You didn't think I'd let you leave me without a real goodbye, did you?" she whispered.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me." He blurted.

She chuckled, a genuine, beautiful sound, and shushed him.

"Not for long." She whispered.

Her fingers trailed down his chest the way they had down hers so many times before. By the time they were down to his belly he was fully erect, oozing with anticipation. Her breasts brushed his chest as she leaned over him. He wasn't sure what she had in mind, but he clamped his mind onto a dogged determination not to cum too fast. No matter what else he did in his life, nothing would be so important as focusing right now. He felt he'd been given a gift from god. He did not want to waste this.

Her red fingernails pressed into his pelvic bones before curling under the band of his boxer-briefs. She tore them away, leaving them taut around his ankles. He was now completely restrained—he might as well have been tied to the bed. He was so overwhelmed with pure joy, he actually worried he might cry until her fingers wrapped around his shaft and began to jerk him in long, steady strokes, the way she'd taught him to stroke himself when she watched. She reached down and wiped the pre-cum off his tip, rubbing it onto her lower lip like balm and licking it with her long, pink tongue. He gasped, glancing from her mischievous brown eyes to her hand on his dick, trying to process the fact that they two were finally connected.

"You're as hard as I always imagined! Here," she said, shifting on the bed so she could feed him her nipples in turn as she worked his bulletproof cock, occasionally passing the fingertips of her other hand along or around his scrotum.

He sucked obediently on her tits, savoring the feeling of her taut little teats on his lips, his tongue, even gently tugged with his teeth. He even licked around her cleavage, tried to suck as much of each tit as he could into his mouth. Her encouraging whispers and moans told him he was doing all right for a first-timer. Her aroma was undeniably familiar. He tried to search his memory while focusing on the task at hand—or at mouth, as it were.

Soon, she pushed back against his pillows and crawled up onto the bed, forcing his legs apart. She gave him a devilish grin and held eye contact as she flickered her tongue from his balls to his knob and then back down, taking each ball into her mouth as she tortured the belly of his cock with her thumb. Then, without warning, she took him into her mouth. He could not help but cry out, grunting loudly as she lathed the upper half of his length before bobbing on him, taking him deeper and deeper every few down-strokes. Soon she was practically gagging herself on his dick.

A woman's mouth—especially one as obviously skilled as Window Girl's—was even more incredible than he could ever have imagined. He loved that he couldn't even stop her with his useless arms if he wanted to. As she took him all the way from tip to base, a drip of her warm saliva crawling down between his balls, he decided if he died the next day, he was totally fine with it. He hoped she would have actual sex with him before he came. He wasn't sure how much more pleasure he could withstand without detonating.

The next thing he knew, she was bundling up her great big tits and spitting between them as she pressed them around his pulsating shaft. Her breath spilled hot and heavy over his slick cock as she began to titty-fuck him.

"Oh my god, yes! Oh, fuck, yes!" he whispered.

She stopped and a different look came over her face—what he could see of it. She seemed almost as amazed as he was as she flattened out his legs and climbed on top of him. She took a firm hold of his dick and described the outline of her pussy-lips, her clit, her freshly-shaven mound before aiming him up and resting him against her slick, hot entrance.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Fuck me, baby" he said, feeling cooler than he ever had.

She settled down around him, coaxing harmonized moans as they experienced each other at long last. Patrick couldn't keep his mouth from gaping as this masked woman began to ride his hard-on, seemingly clenching her pussy around him as she bounced up and down. He wished he could feel her tits as she fucked him, motorboat them and kiss her and reach down and touch her clitoris while she impaled herself along every inch of his cock. The smooth curves of her hips, the gentle bounce of her hefty tits, the cords standing out in her throat as she tossed her head back and began to fuck him harder, no longer caring if the bed was giving a soft, high creak. He could have died and gone to heaven at that moment, but she still had two more surprises in store.

The first was when she pulled him out, spun around and over her shoulder, she told that she wasn't fixed, so he couldn't finish in her pussy. She produced a small bottle and emptied the shockingly cool contents over his cock, then stroked and massaged it in.

He watched, his face the image of torturous ecstasy as she fed him, slowly, slowly, inch by inch into her other, even tighter, hole. This was impossibly small, and he could feel her leg muscles clenching along his sides as she took him. He'd never felt anything so incredible in all his life, the muscles inside her bottom yielding around his thickness but only just. She didn't take him all the way in, instead bracing herself against his bent knees, and swallowing the upper half of his cock with her hot, airtight ass.

He wished he could spank the cheeks jutting toward him as she worked. When he woke up the next day, he had tiny moon-shaped fingernail marks under his knees where she'd death gripped him. She fucked him with her asshole until her breathing was desperate and he was just about ready to cum. He warned her that he was getting close. He could tell when one of her hands disappeared that she was rubbing her clit furiously. And that was when the final surprise came. It was this final detail that still made his brain turn backflips even when he reminisced about that night decades later, as an old man.

She slowed her strokes and seemed to grip him even tighter. She looked back over her shoulder. Turned away. One of her hands left his knee. Went to her face. He could hear the mask come off, watched her toss it beside him on the bed. Her hand hung around her face. He was desperate to see her but he was also a few thrusts from cumming inside Window Girl's ass.

"Oh, god!" he managed.

She turned to face him, looking him straight in the eyes as he fired a monster payload into her ass. He could only make guttural noises no matter how hard he tried to say her name. Then her face changed and he knew she must be cumming, too. The orgasm was so intense, his vision kicked off and had to reboot. When it was over, she was rolling off, cooing, turning, kneeling beside him on the bed.

It made so much sense now.

"Mrs. Valmonti?" he panted, shaking his head.

This was his first childhood crush, his former third grade teacher and his friend Mark Valmonti's mom—who, he now remembered, had quit teaching and become a real estate agent. She must have a key.

"Hi, Patrick. Surprised?"

He nodded.

"Mmmmmmmm..." was all she said, rocking slowly back in forth.

"That was amazing. I should probably say thank you."

"No. Thank you. You made my summer." She said, rising from the bed.

He watched her gather her things. She was about to take the lube but she slipped it into his backpack with a wink.

"I have to go," he told her, "tomorrow. I'm going to college."

"I figured," she said, "Mark leaves tomorrow, too. Tell me something. When do you get those off?"

"Oh, right, the casts. Like October, I guess."

She apologized again. She hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt.

"No, no. Believe me, Mrs. V, it was totally worth it."

"I'm going to miss you. Just..." she threw him the mask, "keep this."

He wanted to say something more but he didn't know what. Nothing he did or said could express his gratitude. She had just rocked his fucking world in orbit-altering fashion. Part of him suspected he would never experience sex that good again.

"Well," she said from the window, in the spot where he usually stood, "take it easy on those college girls. Most of them have never seen a cock like yours up close."

"Um...thanks," he chuckled, "Will I...will you ever..."

"You'll get so much sympathy sex at school, you'll forget all about me." She said.

There were shadows on her face, but he had a feeling her smile was fake, sad.

"Impossible." He told her.

"You're a sweet guy. Never change." She told him.

She blew him a kiss and, wrapping herself in her black robe, climbed out onto the ladder.

"Hey, Mrs. V!" he called in a harsh whisper.

"Yes?"

"I'm back in November, you know. Four days for Thanksgiving Break."

"I know. It's not goodbye forever, it's goodbye for now. I hope my family's turkey isn't the only thing getting stuffed this November. Have a good night, Patrick. Good luck in school."

He called after her again, but this time, as on so many nights before, she was gone. In his dorm room the following night, he lay in his bunk, eyes pinched shut, laughing a little, feeling like the luckiest guy alive and counting the seconds until he could touch himself to the images of her that were his, all his, forever.

They would have to do. Until the next time.