I live in the financial district. It’s a strange place to live for anyone, but it’s especially strange for me – because I don’t work in finance or insurance or anything like that. I just love the energy here, the restaurants, the coffee shops, the people walking back and forth each day with so much purpose. The lack of community here (which is the reason so many others hate it) is a benefit for me; I don’t have to deal with any of that bullshit, and especially not kids. What kind of person would raise kids in a financial district?
It turns out there are people who do – but that’s not what this story is about. A kid does play a role, though, right at the beginning: he was walking down the street just in front of my building, wearing an orange pumpkin hat. It was last Halloween – the pre-pandemic one when life wasn’t such a clusterfuck. My dislike of kids doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a funny child every once in a while, and this guy was actually really good, a comic master at age 4.
I smiled at him as he strided past me and then I smiled up at his mother and then at the woman standing nearby, all of us smiling at each other, brought together by this wonderful idiot of a kid. This is the reason you live in a city – these moments of serendipity. But the kid wasn’t change-your-life cute or anything, and any there’s no reason to talk to a mother, so I turned without saying a word and put the key in my building’s front door. I was swinging it closed behind me when I heard a woman’s voice, “Hey, wait!”
Fuck. No. Just because your kid is cute doesn’t mean I’m willing to babysit. I don’t know why that was the first thought to cross my mind, but why else would the mother speak to me? I had just smiled at her. People in this city use any excuse to play their advantage, so I guess why not here too.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound annoyed as I turned back toward her and looked up – but it wasn’t the mother, it was the other woman who’d shared our urban moment. She was smiling now, too. And she was cute.
“Hi!” I said, starting again with a smile. “Can I help?” I opened the door and started walking out toward her.
“Actually, I live here too.” She was smiling extra bright still – a big, full, genuine smile with big brown eyes above it that were gleaming and looking right at me.
“Hi,” I repeated, greeting her for a third time. And still smiling at her like a child. “Sorry, I mean, come on in. I’m Eric. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi, I’m Vanessa.” Neither of us were smiling quite so childishly any more, but our eyes were locked.
“When did you move in?”
“A couple weeks ago. I live with a friend on the fourth floor.”
“Me too – on the fourth floor. I live with my wife. You must be in 12.”
We continued our introductions on the walk upstairs, starting side-by-side, but swirling round each other in unexpected ways when she stopped to check her shoe and fell a step behind or when she climbed a couple steps in front to take a look up the centre of the staircase. She made sure to show off her features as she did this: her round ass, her bouncy tits.
She was obviously young – I hadn’t been flirted with so blatantly in years. But why not? I’m 35, in good shape. My wife and I keep on point for each other, and it’s not unusual to get attention from other women. But this kind of aggression was off the charts.
“We should have dinner sometime, all four of us,” said Vanessa as we reached our floor.
“Yeah,” I heard myself say. “That’d be great.”
“Soon,” she said, jingling her keys out of her door.
I looked up and we smiled at each other as we went into our respective flats.
I closed the door and couldn’t escape the butterflies in my stomach – for a 20 year old! What was going on? I like women, not girls. And was there anything especially appealing about this one? This pretty but not stunning Brazilian with an awkwardly brazen approach?
My wife was in her home office, and I stopped in.
“I met the new neighbour. Young and Brazilian with great tits – you’ll love her.”
“I bet. How tall is she?”
My wife and I have a joke about height: we’re both pretty tall and we make fun of short people. It’s only funny behind closed doors, and it confirms us as assholes – but at least we know we’re assholes, which puts us ahead of most people I know.
“She’s not super-tall. Below my chin, I think,” I said, holding my hand out to where her head would reach. “And she says she lives with a French girl. Same age. They just finished university.”
“How tall is the French one?”
“I didn’t ask – but we should have them over for a drink.”
“Or a fuck.”
“Ohhhh!” I said and turned back toward her. She was already up and kissing me.
“You sound like you like her,” said Clara in between kisses. “Maybe we could teach her a thing or two.”
Clara has been known to get a little jealous, but she’s also been adventurous. We both work in creative industries and being in our mid-30s with no kids we’ve had a lot of years for experimentation. A couple threesomes didn’t go as smoothly as expected (one, in fact, ended a years-long friendship), but for the most part we’ve been exceptionally compatible – and a new crush or fling, all of it out in the open, has kept us hungry for each other.
Clara and I fucked right then, with a little extra passion – but that’s not why you’re here. Everyday married sex isn’t a staple of erotic fiction because….well, you know why. (Or maybe you don’t – so here is a PSA for you children: married sex is fucking amazing because there are so many emotions, so much history with each other, so much familiarity with each other’s bodies. It is super, super hot. But you can’t write erotic fiction about it precisely because of all those emotions and strands of history; in order to include those, you need to hear about the whole relationship, and to do that you need to write a whole novel, which is just fiction, not erotic fiction. So, kids: don’t let anyone tell you that uninhibited sex when you’re single is the only good sex you’ll ever have – even though it does make the best erotic stories….speaking of which).
Vanessa and Clara met the next day in the hallway. Clara texted me: “Vanessa’s fucking hot. I’m down if you’re down.”
“Yep – why not?”
A couple hours later, Clara texted again: “Drinks at our place tonight with Vanessa and probably the Frenchie. Bring your A-game.”
I could feel my cock grow as I read the message. I was mid-project with my team – an advertising campaign for a department store – and I had to step out of the room so it wouldn’t be obvious. I haven’t worn underwear for 20 years and while a growing erection has gotten me laid a couple times in different circumstances, at work it would be beyond inappropriate.
The thought of Vanessa’s bouncing tits stayed with me all day, a recurring daydream of the best kind. And then near the end of the day Clara texted again: “No Frenchie apparently. Cancel or continue?”
Would it be too forward to fuck our neighbour on first meeting her? Of course it would – but she seems to want it. I couldn’t think of a reason why we shouldn’t go ahead. “Continue,” I texted back.
She was already there when I got home from work. I could hear her laugh mingling with my wife’s when I walked in the door. I hadn’t expected this – I thought I could get changed and Clara and I could strategise beforehand. But here she was.
I drank a glass of water, dropped my coat and went into the sitting room, which was already a bit dark. There was just one light one, and Clara and Vanessa were sitting next to each other on one of the couches – not the usual place for guests to sit, given that we have two more chairs and another couch. A bottle of champagne was open and Clara had her hand, when I walked in, on Vanessa’s right shoulder, touching the fabric of what was a very sheer shirt. Underneath, Vanessa was wearing a thin camisole and apparently no bra because her nipples were calling to me from across the room.
“Hello you,” said Clara in her exaggerated drunk voice. “You wouldn’t believe how soft Vanessa’s shirt is!”
Vanessa looked up at me and smiled, her eyes flashing a wildness that might just be drunkenness.
“We’re at that stage already, are we?” I said. “How many bottles have you two gone through?”
“This is our first, thank you very much,” replied Clara, lifting it up and emptying what remained into the third glass on the table, evidently for me.
“And how do you know which stages we’ve already passed? I happen to have already heard about her magic boobs, even if I haven’t touched them yet.”
“Cheers,” I said, “here’s to magic tits, then”, holding my glass up and looking at Vanessa to see how receptive she was to my wife’s unabashed advances. Usually Clara and I are the couple who are approached, not the ones doing the approaching. We’ve developed routines for flirting that extend the pleasure over hours – the kind of coquettish conversations that can last through dinner at one restaurant and then cocktails at another.
Now I’d been home for less than five minutes, and I was ready to start stripping off my wife’s shirt to compare her tits to our guest’s.
Vanessa seemed to have the same thought. “I suspect those might be magic too,” she said, looking at my wife’s tits, which aren’t quite magic but are the very rare perfect size: big on her frame but easily squishable into sports bras, a handful (and a faceful) without threating to hang down to her belly button in old age.
Clara usually wears a padded bra, but today she was wearing a tight shirt with a bra that didn’t hide anything – and her nipples were starting to grow as they could feel all six eyes in the room descend on them.
“It looks like Clara’s a little colder than you are,” I said – the moment needed some kind of punctuation. And then Vanessa reach over toward Clara. I thought she was going to grab her tit right away, but she took her shoulder instead and turned Clara fully toward her so she could see for herself.
“Your nipples are amazing,” she said to Clara, looking straight at them. My cock started to grow.
“Mine are smaller,” she continued, looking down at her own, which were still beckoning me. “They look much better without a shirt on. Do you want to see?”
My wife, the angel, responded by reaching over to Vanessa’s diaphanous shirt and pulling it up, along with the camisole, over her head. The result was astonishing: Vanessa’s nipples were tiny little buttons, closer to my size than my wife’s, and her tits sat high and firm, barely jiggling as she laughed. Her cheeks were red, but she was clearly enjoying the attention.
Clara began reaching her arms toward them, and looked up at Vanessa. “May I?”
Vanessa nodded and laughed again – we all did – as Clara cupped her tits stroking both nipples with her thumbs.
“Now I’m very cold,” said Clara. And then I was behind her, pulling up her shirt over her head and unclasping her bra. Clara leaned in to kiss Vanessa’s tits, and I grabbed Clara’s, sliding my hands down toward her hips as she leaned farther forward.
This seemed to be an occasion for bold moves, so I pulled down Clara’s trousers and underwear, scooping them from under her knees and pulling them off her ankles. I was fully hard, but I didn’t want to penetrate her yet, so I kissed her right cheek and then her left and moved my hand between her legs, sliding past her slit very slowly. She was already wet – they’d clearly been flirting for two glasses of champagne already – and I put a fingertip inside her. She groaned, and Vanessa groaned in return, looking down at Clara’s hair and then across her back at me. She smiled up at me, and I smiled back before dancing my lubricated finger up to Clara’s clit.
Clara likes a lot of foreplay, but I didn’t think she want too much now. Her whole sex was pulsing with heat, and I started moving my fingertips rapidly alongside her clit – more like the end than the beginning. She pushed her hips back into me gently and groaned to show she wanted me to continue.
I looked up and Clara was sliding off Vanessa’s leggings, exposing a thin strip of trimmed fuzz – a Brazilian on a Brazilian. I was about to suggest we move to the bed because the couch was no place for three of us, but Clara was so hungry for Vanessa that I didn’t want to break the spell. She dove into her after she had pulled off her socks, pushing her legs up so her heels were near her head and smothering herself in Brazilian pussy.
Vanessa screamed with delight, and because Clara had repositioned herself in a kneeling squat on the couch, with her clit totally inaccessible to me, I reconsidered where I should go.
First thing, I realised, was to join the others in their nudity. I was the only one with clothes on, and I was fully dressed. I unbutton my shirt and threw it behind me as Vanessa continued her scream moans. I stood up to take down my trousers and as they fell to the floor Vanessa looked up at me with the same intense gaze she had when we first met, barely 24 hours ago.
I came over to her and she grabbed my dick, giving it a couple pulls. And I realised what had to happen. I took her hand off my dick and moved directly behind her, keeping our eyes locked the whole time. Clara was still tongue-deep and writhing with pleasure, as I looked down across Vanessa’s impossibly taught body.
Vanessa understood what I wanted and started shifting her body to make it work, moving each leg down on top of Clara’s shoulders and leaning back over the couch’s armrest so my dick could go straight down her throat. “Softly,” she said as she looked up at me, and I put it in very slowly.
She coughed a little bit and tried to take more but coughed again – and I could see that the angles were all wrong. It would only be possible on a bed.
Clara had looked up at the coughing, and we all laughed at the absurdity of the position, three of us on a too-small couch. “Bedroom?” I said. They got up almost in unison facing each other and kissing from the moment their faces were at the same height. Clara started back up while still kissing, and I came in behind Vanessa, grabbing her ass with my right hand and using my left to direct Clara’s shoulder around a chair.
We got to the bed and Clara pushed me down on my back. “You first,” she said, and then they were perched on either side of me, their lips kissing my cock and each other. I could have burst that instant.
Clara then took sole control of my cock and Vanessa moved behind her, laying down underneath her so Clara’s legs were straddling her face. Clara’s blowjob suddenly got less enthusiastic, but I didn’t mind: she was contorting and groaning with pleasure that was so obvious it made me feel close to popping again.
As Clara’s pleasure reached a still higher pitch, she stopped moving on my cock but kept it in her mouth. She was getting close. I grabbed her hair and pulled a bit – she likes the pressure as she comes. And then she started hyperventilating and almost screaming. I could see Vanessa’s hands gripping her ass, pressing her on her face. Clara’s hips started shaking and she yelled louder still. She was coming now – her orgasms could last many seconds and neither Vanessa nor I were stopping. I pulled her hair harder and felt a little too much pressure on my dick, which she was now thankfully dropping from her mouth to get enough air in. “Oh oh oh oh oh,” she was screaming, eyes closed and face contorted between pleasure and pain.
“My god yes,” Clara repeated to herself as she collapsed on her side, “my god yes.” Then, turning to me, she said, “You have to taste her.”
Thinking the very same thing myself, I moved around Clara and repositioned Vanessa next to her. I slipped off the edge of the bed and buried my face in what was an exceptionally wet slit. She was more streamlined than Clara and the extra lubrication surprised me initially, suffocating me for an instant. But her scent was intoxicating and I tried to get my tongue on every centimetre of her, alternately squeezing her incredibly bouncy ass and moving my hands up to the buttons on her tits.
She was not shy about her desires. “Harder, harder,” as I was gliding my tongue across her clit. And then “Come in me, all the way, hard”. I knew a condom was called for and I reached for it in the bedside drawer. As I rolled it on, Vanessa watched and vibrated her own clit, telling me “You’re so fucking big. So fucking big.”
Approaching her and ready, she lifted her legs up to my shoulders and I guided myself in with one hand as I pulled her thigh with the other. I do this with Clara so it slides in easier, but with Vanessa it felt necessary to pry her open so I could fit at all.
The tip just started to go in, and she closed her legs slightly, saying “You’re so big, you’re so big.”
“Slowly,” I said. “Let’s go slowly.” And I grabbed both of her ass cheeks and spread them as wide as they would go, pushing the tip of my cock into her very gently and continuing to push, in and out, in and out, with the gentlest possible motion.
She groaned and said “I want it” with her eyes clenched shut. I pushed deeper – there was no need for more lube, as she was generating so much – and my head cleared her initial tightness. “Holy fuck!” she screamed. “More!”
And so I cracked her open, centimetre by centimetre, our bodies rocking together slowly but firmly, drenched in sweat and her natural juices, Clara lying next to Vanessa, her right hand massaging her tits.
“Do you like doggy” Clara said, looking at Vanessa. Vanessa nodded and Clara said, “Try it – he’s amazing from behind.”
I extracted myself slowly both because of the condom and because I’m not sure there was any other way. It was a fit that didn’t leave much to spare, especially in the position we were in. When she turned on her knees, I came in slowly again, but the fit was better, easier. After a couple thrusts I slipped in nearly all the way, and then she pushed back on me and said “harder!” Which was what I was hoping to hear.
I built the momentum slowly, adding a bit of speed and pressure each time. “So big” she seemed to chant after a few more thrusts, “so big”, “so big”, “so big”. I had found a momentum and Vanessa’s words had turned into moans, which were matched by Clara – who was now touching herself as she watched me pound our neighbour.
“Oh fuck”, said Vanessa. “Yes yes yes yes yes.” I took this as a sign to increase my thrust by just a touch and he started slamming her ass into me like no one has ever done, meeting my momentum with so much of her own that it almost felt like she wanted to knock me over. I steadied myself and dug my toes in the sheets and then thrust with exceptional force, finding a rhythm with her almost immediately.
I wasn’t going to be able to hold for much longer at this speed. I was so turned on I was making noises I very rarely make. “I’m coming I’m coming I’m coming,” she said, as her thrusts become gentler – and then so was I, the pleasure suffusing my body with every push. “Oh my god oh my god.” My lips were quivering, my bottom lip numb, and I couldn’t stop the last few thrusts – it seemed like a crime to pull out of her.
But I remembered the condom and did, seeing it full and realising that some of the pressure I was feeling was from it being out of air.
I took it off, tied it off, threw it on the floor and collapsed on the bed, one hand on my wife’s thigh, the other on our young neighbour’s buoyant tit.
Little did I know what the winter ahead would bring…
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kd4d5d/our_young_neighbour_mf_35_f_22