Next Sunday: The Neighborhood Slut

"You let Mike cum in that slutty pussy, didn't you?" Ulrich took a wide stance and exchanged looks between me and his hard-on. It stood proudly at attention, covered in what must have been Mike's residual cum left in my rectum.

I didn't respond. But I crawled off of the bed, got on my knees, and sucked on Ulrich's cock. I slurped, ensuring I could taste Mike's cum on his dick. I licked the cock base, tasting the sweet saltiness of the man who'd just used me on the cock of another man who was just beginning to use me.

When Ulrich was clean, I said, "Sorry I didn't tell you."

Ulrich must have seen the fire in my eyes. I was in a state of cocklust, completely embodying the role of a man who would do anything for cock--including risking his marriage. It's a side of me few people see, including Rick. Only men like Ulrich, Mike, and hundreds of others know my demonic appetite.

"Don't apologize to me," Ulrich said, throwing me back on the bed. He shoved his cock in me. I winced, but the pain was minor--I was already loose, already wet. I felt Ulrich's stomach on my back and his mouth next to my ear. He whispered, "Apologize to your husband," pointing to our wedding picture mere feet away.

He fucked me for an hour, one of our most extended sessions to date, in every position imaginable. We used Rick's pillow to prop my ass up so Ulrich could plow into me in missionary.

Although my mind had gone blank, except for the occasional thought of Rick, I managed to be of sound mind enough to look at the bedside clock at the right time. "He's gonna be home soon," I panted, my hands on Ulrich's firm ass, pulling him into me.

"So?" Ulrich kept slamming, the sound echoing in the bedroom.

"My husband's gonna be back soon," I moaned in pleasure and supplication.

"Who cares?" Ulrich growled, separating the words with a thrust.

I cared. But did I stop Ulrich? No. I couldn't. This kind of talk was what got me off. Although I love being someone's cheating faggot, I rarely get hard. But when a man blatantly disrespects my marriage, my dick rises to the occasion. I began jerking myself.

A few minutes pass before I decide I don't want my marriage to end. At least not at the hands (or cock?) of a neighbor--of someone Rick knew. So I changed my strategy, employing the one phrase I knew, from weeks of letting Ulrich breed me, would get him off.

"Oh my god," I moaned, jerking my cock. "Cum inside me. Cum inside my married pussy."

Ulrich fell for it. "Oh yeah? You two loads in your ass when you give Rick a welcome home kiss?"

"Fuck yes. I wanna pretend like I'm not a slut when my husband's gone." My performance was getting us somewhere.

"Like you're not the neighborhood slut that you are?"

Neighborhood slut. Yes, I'd fucked our neighbors before but wasn't ever designated the neighborhood slut so explicitly. The words echoed and filled my body with uncontrollable shivers.

"Look at you, you fucking cheating slut," Ulrich bellowed in his German accent. If Rick had been in the driveway, he would have heard it. And I wouldn't have known, as I had begun cumming more than I can ever recall--an endless orgasm extended by Ulrich's cock punching my prostate.

And then he came. He came harder than I'd seen to date. He shook and spasmed, and I felt his cock expanding with each pulse against the walls of my loose anus. He collapsed onto my chest. I wrapped my legs around the small of his back while he jittered and continued spewing cum inside me.

We then resumed our routine. I sucked Ulrich clean. I looked at Rick's pillow, which was wet with cum and ass, and I sucked up as much liquid as possible while Ulrich dressed. "Next week," he said stoically. Once these fuckers cum, they're done--it was time to pretend like it never happened. Best for everyone.

I put Rick's pillow back, sure to set the wet side down, hoping it would dry by bedtime.

I looked out the bedroom window. Rick was pulling into the driveway. Luckily, Ulrich had already made it back to his house. In the distance, I saw him examining a flower bed. He'd looked like he was just making the morning rounds ahead of weekly yard work. Next door to him, Mike was already mowing the lawn, the spiraled blades cycling through the already well-trimmed grass, kicking up green mulch along the way.

Mike got out of the car, but instead of coming to the door, he turned to Ulrich's house and waved. Ulrich wandered onto his lawn--a gesture to invite my husband to pop over and say hi.

My heart raced. My husband stood feet from the man who had just fucked a load into me. And a couple of yards away was the other one. My dick began to grow. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It's happened countless times, my husband interacting with the man who just unloaded in my pussy. But happening so soon after, and with someone who was a fixture in our daily lives, even if only peripherally, was a rare occurrence.

They chatted, though they were too far away for me to make out what they were saying. Ulrich gestured wildly, his hands motioned towards our house. Rick glanced over his shoulder. Mike waved as he made his way toward Ulrich's house with his mower, and my husband and fellow adulterer waved back with slight smiles.

Ulrich and Rick shook hands. Odd, I thought. Rick turned towards our house. I ducked out the window frame so as not to be seen and hopped in the shower, my cock slightly softening.

In the shower, I'd decided to keep Ulrich's and Mike's loads in my ass. It had been so long since receiving multiple rounds of cum from different guys who weren't my husband. I decided to savor it and would risk a wet spot on my pants for the thrill of knowing that I was hiding others' DNA from my wonderful, naive man.

As usual, I greeted my husband, and we spent the rest of the day being domestic, ending the weekend with a sensual fuck where I'd convinced him the cum from my hole was just me pre-lubed. I got off again.

That was how my being the neighborhood slut started. Let me bring you to the present day.

I don't know how I got to where I am. I consider myself the luckiest man in the world. You already know I have an amazing husband, two beautiful dogs, a dream home in the suburbs, and a cushy part-time job as a life coach.

But my life has turned into the premise of a porno. I have no one to talk to about it, so it feels weird to write this out; it feels like I'm saying it for the first time--I'm sending my reality into the universe. So here goes: I regularly hook up with my neighbors on my block.

Yep. That's right. And it feels fantastic to confess. Every Sunday, I make the rounds to all nine houses on my block, both sides of the street (save for Ulrich and Mike, who need to come over to escape their partners).

I have no idea how it happened. But one by one, each man has somehow found me over the last nine months. I asked Ulrich if he had told anyone. He laughed.

"Why?" he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Oh, no reason," I shrugged.

"Is the neighborhood slut becoming sluttier?"

I giggled, throwing on some shorts after excellent breeding from Ulrich. I didn't have time for chit-chat. I needed to get to the next man.

"Why would I want to tell anyone I'm fucking a married man behind my women's backs?"

"Fair," I said, ushering Ulrich to the door.

"Next week."

I nodded and watched Ulrich cross the street. He surveyed his lawn while butterflies filled my stomach. Ulrich had taken to going inside immediately after leaving, deciding to avoid Rick if Ulrich was late to stay so as not to raise any suspicions. But today, he lazily looked at the grass, the rose bushes, and the hostas.

My next stop is directly next door to me. If I leave now, Ulrich will see me. If I don't go now, I risk the chance of missing out on servicing one of my favorites: Harry.

Harry is older--an empty-nester whose wife also attended church on Sundays. The two were quite conservative (she went to a far more radical church than my husband). The couple was so conservative that once they realized a gay couple had moved in next door, they fitfully ignored us at all costs.

Harry found out about my cheating and my skills in the open. My other neighbors are a mystery to me, but Harry is a dirty little spy.

One hot morning, Ulrich and I decided to spice things up. After Mike dropped off a load, Ulrich, who loved his sloppy seconds, suggested we take a risk and fuck in the backyard. Risk is practically my middle name, so I was down.

While Ulrich was pounding me, I worried about the neighbors hearing us but didn't give a flying fuck. I'm a walking paradox. On all fours, my knees boring into the cutting blades of grass, I saw an eye through a knot in the wooden privacy fence.

I panicked. Ulrich hadn't noticed the peeping Tom (or Harry), so, with two hands tightly gripping the flesh above my ass, he kept pounding away, whispering terrible things loud enough to hear.

After Ulrich had unloaded inside me, he left. "Next week," he'd said. I laid on my stomach, elbows propping up my hands that cradled my face. Post-coital, I calmly stared at the knot in the fence. The eye suddenly disappeared, but a shadow still blotted out the sun on the other side.

In what seemed like slow motion, a cock, stout, thick, and hard with a slight upward curve, made its way through the hole. Dirty Harry. Leave it to a conservative asshole to so blatantly be on the DL.

Harry must've been close to 50. The few times we'd passed each other outside, I noticed his beer belly, gray mustache, thick arms, and towering stature. He looked like a pragmatic, gruff man--the profile of a fag basher. And if it isn't already clear, I do love a good bashing from the men I cheat with, so I was naturally attracted to him but never had I thought he'd be one to expose himself so close to home.

You know I didn't ignore him. I crawled up to the fence and grabbed his cock, stroking what I could. He wasn't long at all, but his girth filled my fist.

He grunted--a primal, masculine sound that drove me wild and gave me an erection. While on my knees, cum spilling out of my ass, I quickly took his cock in my mouth.

"Fuckin' faggot." Said in the quietest but most aggressive tones, Harry began to thrust what little he could against the fence. I moaned. The thought of some bigot using me to get off was like a dream come true.

"Take it, you queer slut," Harry said, probably louder than he meant to.

I whimpered, signaling that I was just some undiscerning gay man who would take whatever cock came his way--the stereotype he probably had in his mind of every homosexual. And I was happy to perpetuate it.

He didn't last long and abruptly came into my mouth. His cock pulsed and shot endless ropes of extremely bitter sperm. Most would think it tasted terrible, but when you're a cum slut, it all tastes good.

When he finished, he said, "Next Sunday," in a glib voice, and pulled his cock out of my mouth.

And for the following weeks, after Mike's long cock inseminated Ulrich and me replaced Mike's load, I'd get one more through the fence. Until one day, when Harry didn't show up.

His car was still in the drive--and his wife was gone. He must still be home, I thought. He was disappointed; feeling like an addict who craved one more hit, I boldly decided to go next door to Harry's house.

After ensuring Ulrich had gone inside his home, I dressed and, careful to avoid any neighbors seeing me, knocked on Harry's door.

Without a word, he opened the door and moved aside, leaving me a path to enter.

"You gays just can't get enough, can you?"

Expressionless, I shook my head, otherwise silent. It was best to say as little as possible with men like him. Even the sound of a man's voice during a sexual encounter could scare off a homophobe.

I followed him to the living room. He unbuttoned his boot-cut jeans and threw them and his boxers to the floor. He sat on the couch, his cock already hard.

He shot a skeptical look at me. "I shouldn't have to tell a queer like you what to do!"

I began to undress. My cock stood at attention before Harry as I knelt between his legs. I looked at his balls for the first time. Big, hairy, and hung low like an actual bull--the blessing of an older man; the signs of decades of virility.

"And don't get cute with me. I'm not some faggot sodomizer like you."

And with that, I began worshiping this asshole of a bigot. I sucked on his balls, the rough pubic hair brushing my tongue. I licked his shaft, tasting his untrimmed, salt-and-pepper bush. I put his cock in my mouth, and the daddy musk of his crotch filled my nose. I live for the scent of a man, and the hairy ones have it in abundance.

I made sure to suck his cock from base to tip, showing Harry I could take all of his cock without a problem. I looked up at him as my rhythm accelerated. Our eyes met. He was expressionless, except for a glint of hatred in his pupils. Unsure if he hated me--if he hated that he enjoyed having a man's mouth on his penis, or if it was both--I moaned like a girl.

"Piece-of-shit faggot." Harry uttered the most un-Christian words when I pleased him. He took my head in both of his rough, swollen hands (one of which bore a wedding ring) and forced me down. I feigned struggling against him, knowing he likely wanted to abuse me as the queer he thinks I am. I squirmed but stuck out my tongue to lick his balls--a tried and true magic trick that drove all men wild.

"All you homos are good for is this," he said. In quick motions, he forced my head up and down his cock, my forehead slamming into his gut--a sensation I missed, not having experienced since the Goodbye bathhouse trip I made before the move.

I gagged, made coughing sounds, and put on a show as if I both wanted and didn't want it. But of course, I wanted it.

"Your boyfriend know about you?" Harry asked through gritted teeth. Spit flew from his mouth and landed on my forehead. He lifted me enough to answer.

"Husband. And no." I looked at him doe-eyed.

Harry scoffed. "A homo, a sodomizer, and an adulterer. God save your soul."

Never mind that Harry was also cheating on his partner. He face-fucked me some more, his breathing becoming heavier.

"Gay marriage destroyed it for the rest of us."

"Mmhmm," I moaned on his dick. Whatever excuse you need, I thought as I jerked my cock.

Harry swatted my hand away from my dick. "Don't you dare bring that sinful behavior into my house," he bellowed. The man stood up, flung his legs over my shoulders, and buried my face in his bush. He thrust as deep as his short cock would allow, his thighs pressing down on my shoulders.

"Go to hell, you fuckin' fairy." Harry came as he condemned me. From his gut came a primitive sound that only a man who hates himself and those like him could make.

I savored every ounce of his bitter DNA, the product of a bad diet in mid-life.

He quickly slid his dick off my tongue and slapped my face with it, leaving residual cum below my eye. "Get the fuck out," he said.

After dressing, I started for the front door. "Out the back, dumbass. No one's gonna see a faggot leave my house in any dignified way."

I hurried out the back door and attempted to jump the tall fence between our yards. Harry watched from the deck, shaking his head and mumbling something offensive. He disappeared, and I panicked. But there's no way Harry would leave me in his backyard for his wife to see. There'd be uproar. She might even call the cops for trespassing. Harry wouldn't risk that. Right?

Harry came back out with a step ladder. Although it was still tricky, and I suffered a splinter, with the help of the ladder, I found myself falling to a thud in my backyard. God must have seen this as funny. I sure would if I had his front-row seat.

"Next Sunday?" I yelled through the fence, craning my neck. I heard Harry shuffle through the grass and close his back door. No answer is a good answer.

My Sundays start the same. I pretend to be asleep while Rick gets ready for church. I get out of bed in time to kiss him goodbye and immediately take a shower for the marathon day that always awaits.

Mike comes over the minute Rick's car has turned off our street. He fucks me over the arm of the couch as always, breeds me after a series of long strokes, and leaves after saying, "Next Sunday."

This Sunday, today, I lay my back in the living room with my legs in the air and finger my puffy, used hole, sure to lick up what little cum is on my fingers as Ulrich walks in the door at 8:15. He plows into me, calling me a terrible husband, a cheating cumdump, and a neighborhood slut. Today he wants to fuck in the shower, so we do, and he leaves a load inside of me. I suck his cock clean of his and Mike's loads, and after we've dried off (Ulrich using Rick's towel, of course) and dressed, Ulrich says, "Next Sunday."

I then pull out a step ladder and climb the fence, landing on the other side like an Avenger (practice makes perfect).

I find Harry on the couch, pants at his knees, hands at his sides, waiting with an erection. He degrades me and cums inside my mouth after saying, "Go to hell, you fuckin' fairy."

Hard as a rock after three loads, I leave for the back door and ask, "Next Sunday?" and receive no answer like every Sunday. Harry's left the step ladder out for me, and I jump the fence as I always do.

It's 8:52 now, and I've got six more households to make happy. Forgetting to wash my face this time, I head through the back door, then the front, and walk to the house on the other side of Ulrich. I catch his eye in the living room window and wave. At 8:54, his neighbor answers the door.

Nick is young. Perhaps in his mid-twenties. How he could afford (or want to live in) a house in the suburbs is beyond me. He's sweet, of average height, and has a beautiful smile that reads welcoming and hedonistic.

"Making the rounds?" he asks and welcomes me inside.

"Yeah," I say, slightly out of breath from the obstacle course that is Sunday morning."

"How many?"

"Three."

"That's a good slut." Nick is whispering now. I give him a curious look. "Hooked up with a chick last night. She's still in bed, so we have to be quiet."

Nick winks. His eyes sparkle amid the darkness of his devilish pupils. His brown hair is tousled. He looks unshowered, and I wonder how he'll taste.

He takes off his sleeveless shirt and reveals a six-pack on a slim upper body. His chest hair is sparse and trimmed. He removes his boxers and out pops his downwardly curved boner. A nice size. Bigger than me, smaller than Mike, with a beautiful head and a singular vein that runs its length.

"Hope you like the taste of pussy," he says, not for the first time. I usually come by Nick's later in the morning, but he asked for my services earlier last week. He wants me to taste the remnants of his hook-up with some bitch.

"Not sure I--," and before I finish my sentence, Nick has put me to my knees and shoved his cock down my throat. My nose pushes into his soft flesh, where I feel the blades of his neatly trimmed pubes. He tastes and smells funky, metallic, maybe. I don't hate it, but I pretend to. I moan, wince, and genuinely gag. His cock is long enough to push my limits.

Nick is always in control. His hands are on my head, and he gently pulls me down and off the entirety of his cock. Nick loves the long, slow strokes, and I'm happy to oblige this young stud's needs. Not to mention, it's much quieter that way.

"How many cocks have you sucked?" Nick whispers.

"Four now," I mumble with his cock still in my mouth.

"That's a good slutty boy," he says breathily.

I have sucked off all the pussy juices of this young professional. Nick lets go of my head, takes his cock out of my mouth as a string of thick saliva leashes me to him, and sits on the couch. He says, "Show me that pussy." Who am I to deny him?