The Man Next Door

"My husband is a premature ejaculator."

That's all she needs to say.

He pushes her against the wall, hands roaming over her supple backside before slipping up her dress. Grey dress, white cotton knickers. Her husband doesn't let her wear pretty clothes, afraid they'll attract a man who can do what he can't. And the last time she wore sexy knickers he creamed himself, wheezing and moaning, before he could even drop his pants.

But the man next door sees past the drab, baggy clothing to the hourglass figure beneath, and he has what it takes to claim it.

There's an ocean of lust in those plain, bland panties, unmet needs scorching a hole through the cotton. Her mound grinds against the palm of his hand before he pulls the garment aside and slips a finger into her hungry slit. She whimpers into his mouth.

There are so many other ways to please a woman. Finger her, eat her, rub the clit. There are toys, creams, tricks, medicines. But her hubby refused them all, too proud to consider them, a pride as intense as it was baseless; his way is to mount her for a ten-second ride, thirty on a good day, take his own pleasure then fall asleep. And so she seeks satisfaction from another, wrapping her arms around him and smushing her heavy tits against his wide chest. As she does, his fingers find the clitoris and reduce her to a whimpering wreck.

Her kisses run along his neck, turning to bites as her desire is unleashed. In the empty house her moans rise and echo, noises the walls have never heard her make in company. For three years of marriage, she has taken care of her own pleasure. But that's about to change.

She squeezes the neighbour's ass, a move that would have had her husband jizzing in his pants. But the real man next door just growls and lifts her, carries her, sets her heart-shaped ass down upon the table. Her knickers are thrown aside, his belt unbuckled, and his cock springs loose. It's bigger than what she's used to; an added humiliation for the cuckold-to-be.

The neighbour runs his fingers through her long chestnut hair before fondling her big tits playfully. Then the time comes for him to hike her dress over her waist, grab her by her shapely hips, and slams his cock inside her to the hilt.

A cry escapes her lips as iron-hard masculinity fills her neglected snatch. Her new lover takes a moment to savour her lush wetness before drawing back, dragging a moan from her before spearing home again. And again. Over and over.

She cries and squeals, moans and shrieks as he fucks her at a pace her sissy husband could never dream of. Her tits bounce beneath their drab dress and her eyes widen with desires finally fulfilled. With hard thrust after hard, manful thrust the neighbour fucks her silly, his pace constant, his breath steady. No whimpers. No apologies. No quick squirt and shriveling collapse, no slumping down breathless and wheezing. No. He fucks and keeps fucking, the way she's dreamed about being fucked. The way she needs to be fucked.

After a mere minute it's the longest shag she's had in years, but he doesn't stop after one, or ten, or twenty. And her aching, needy cunt explodes with joy as it finally gets the cock it deserves, orgasm rippling through her body again and again. Once, twice, four times, she's spent the last three years so understimulated and repressed that the feel of a real cock drives her crazy, thrashing and shrieking like a woman possessed. Three years of empty, quick, unfulfilling sex. Three dry years with not an orgasm to her name save those she rubbed out whilst her weakling husband slept. Three years of her sexuality being chained down by a two-pump chump, a five-pump failure, a loser who couldn't even claim to be a minute man.

But after tonight he could claim to be a cuckold.

When she's done, when she's too exhausted to keep going, when her body slumps weak and trembling upon the table held in place only by her lover, the man next door finishes it in style. He takes his reward from the broken, utterly satisfied woman, pounding in deep, striving and straining until...until...

Until, with a grunt of primal satisfaction that makes her heart flutter in her chest, he cums inside her with a hard thrust. His white-hot load stuffs her pussy to overflowing, unloading dollops of thick, sticky semen into her conquered cunt, a man's reward for fucking a lady the way she deserves. When he finally pulls out of her messy, creampied slit, she's in no state to move. So he picks her up bridal style, knowing with a surge of pride that she was once a bride, and he has stolen her from her groom. He's a gentleman; he carries her to bed, undresses her, kisses her pretty lips.

"I'll need a bath before he gets home," she mumbles. "You've made a mess of me."

You've made a satisfied woman of me, her adoring eyes say.

He returns home with a spring in his step to find his own wife leaning against the door, a playful smile on her face.

"I could hear you two from the kitchen, you silly man." She plays with a strand of her auburn hair before kissing him.

"Sounded like you did a good job. That poor woman deserved that. I'm very proud of you."

His manhood rose at her words and her kisses. It would be her turn next.

"I'll invite her over for drinks sometime," his pretty wife whispered as she pulled her returning hero to the bedroom. "I want my fun with her too."

And in the house next door a neglected housewife stretched out in the bath, luxuriating in the afterglow of her infidelity, her heart full of gratitude and lust.