Getting to Know My Neighbor Ch. 04byarchilochus©
When I met her in the garden the next night, she was wearing shorts, a blouse (with a bra), and perfume. And a little makeup, which reddened her lips and darkened her eyes. Her hair was done up in a long braid. I had brought her some grapes, which I fed to her, forcing them between her lips, which produced in me an immediate erection. No sooner had she swallowed the last grape than (taking the hint) she fell to her knees, unzipped my shorts, and took me into her mouth, while wrapping her soft fingers around my hot, stiff shaft.
I don't know what made her so forward; I suppose it was simply the long-delayed outlet of lust. She had no modesty, only appetite. That's the way I felt myself. We were well matched, which we had known from those first crazy moments on our balconies. She was being a little rough on me; I lifted her up and kissed her and fondled her breasts through all that fabric. Her kissing was so passionate, so abandoned. I had stirred her up inside; the onset of sex with a virtual stranger had turned her on past the point of no return, and she simply did what her body told her to do.
I unbuttoned her pretty cotton blouse and saw her bra. I think she must have bought it for me. It had demi-cups that let a little bit of her nipple area show above the fringe, and it served up her breasts as if they were something to eat; which they were. I stroked her between the legs as I kissed her and fondled her. I could feel how damp she was. I thrust my hand down under the waistband of her shorts: heaven. She had a thong on under her shorts. The little triangle of fabric was already soaked, and it was hot to the touch. I could feel her clitoris throbbing right through the thin cotton, and I slowly stroked it. The fabric rubbed and tugged against her as I moved my finger around and pressed it between her inner lips, still on the outside of the flimsy wet cloth.
She was breathing hard. My tongue was filling her mouth and she was sucking on it. I slipped my finger around to the side of her thong and pulled it aside, and touched her slick, hot folds. I put one, then two fingers inside of her and slowly finger-fucked her, sliding in and out and reaching for the roof of her vagina at the end of each finger stroke. My palm pressed against her fleshy, hairy, swelling mons. I backed her up against the garden wall, and with my free hand took her by her braid and tilted her head back and kissed her on the throat. I ran my lips and teeth up and down along her windpipe. I don't think she'd ever been kissed like that. I didn't kiss girls like that when I was her age. She started to thrust her pelvis against my fingers.
I knew I could do better than that for her. I dropped my shorts and slipped on a condom. I pulled her shorts and thong off. I was bare-assed in her father's garden, and she was naked from the waist down herself. If we got caught, we got caught. In the meantime, we were on fire. I lifted her up in the air so that she could straddle me and wrap her legs around me. She was heavy, it's true, but not so heavy that I couldn't rest her against the wall and hold her up. In that position I let gravity impale her on my hard-as-rosewood cock.
I believe the ancient Romans put statues of Priapus, complete with erect phalluses, at the corners of their gardens as tokens of fertility, and now I was such a figure come to life in another Roman garden. I felt like a satyr from the forest ravishing a village girl at her own back door. With her own consent.
Oh, she consented, all right. She liked being airborne. I knew I didn't have much time before my strength ran out, so I went to work. That swelling mons I spoke of: a pad of sweet flesh to cushion the blows. I pounded into her, and I slapped hard against her lush pubic hair and that pillow of pubic flesh. Pounding and slapping make noise, and we may have added a few vocal tones to the percussion.
Her twin brother suddenly opened his door on the balcony above us. We froze. I couldn't hold her any longer. I let her down. We cowered behind the bean poles. We heard her brother's footsteps on the balcony, but he didn't seem to have detected us. I turned Isabella around to face the wall. I placed her hands on it, spread apart. Very slowly and quietly, I penetrated her from behind. We both suppressed the groan of inner satisfaction. She raised her ass for perfect alignment. I held her hips and huddled close to her, covering her like a bull.
This was madness, and we knew it. This was sweetness sharpened by danger, and we felt it, and gave ourselves up to it. I slid so slowly in and then almost out, then in again. I glided frictionlessly into her until there was a noiseless thud as I sheathed my swollen satyr's phallus to the hilt, repeatedly, in long slow-motion strokes. With every stroke I wound the coils inside me tighter. I maintained my patient, machine-like rhythm, but I varied the placement of my hands, now on her wide hips, now around her waist, now on her broad shoulders, now holding her heavy full breasts and stroking her nipples, now with my hands all over her smooth, strong thighs.
I gathered the rope of her braid in my hand the way the black lover in the video that I had caught her watching did, and pulled her head back, and fondled her throat, all the while gliding in and out of her, soundlessly. Her brother still seemed to be on the balcony. Could he see us? Was he watching? The thought turned me on; I hoped he was watching his sister get taken from behind, the way he had no doubt dreamed of doing himself in his perverted, incestuous masturbatory fantasies.
With my left hand cradling her breasts, I reached my right hand down between her legs, threading my way through her bush until I found what I was feeling for. I love a girl with a large clitoris, and she had one, a hard, slippery knob just asking to be rubbed. The feel of it on my fingertips was more than I could bear. I felt something snap inside of me. My body began to twitch in a convulsive thrusting motion. I couldn't control it, and I didn't want to. Spasms shot through me in flowing waves.
My motions and the friction from my fingers had the same effect on her. I felt her quiver and jerk against me. My cock thrust and pressed and planted as deeply into her as I could go; deep inside of her she gripped it and stripped it of every drop I had, with the rippling squeezes of a long, deep orgasm. We choked our groans and swallowed our sighs, which only intensified our sensations. We were both trembling. I held on to her and kissed her shoulder and bit it like a horse.
Like Adam and Eve in their garden, we suddenly felt our nakedness. The garden seemed as bright as day, although it was in fact fairly dark. We heard her brother's door close. Had he seen and heard it all? Was he going to get his parents? Or just lie on his bed and beat off like mad? We dressed. Again we parted hastily, with scarcely a goodnight -- though I did blurt out a foolhardy invitation to her to visit me at my house. She said she was going away with her family for the weekend. "Monday," I said.
I escaped out the back of the garden to the front of my house. I went up to my bedroom and looked across at her room. She appeared. She waved goodnight. I lay back on my bed, still breathing hard. Thinking of what we had done, and what her brother might have seen, I stroked myself to a second, aching orgasm. And fell asleep.