145. The Boy Next Door – part 4

All this time, The Boy Next Door has been popping around pretty much every week.  We have fine-tuned our routine to achieve maximum pleasure in under three hours.

The Boy Next Door messages me, I get in the shower, he arrives and the moment he walks in the door we get started.  Sexy kissing, tearing each other’s clothes off (when will he learn to come over in sweat pants??), and we are naked and fucking on the bed in minutes.

We roll back and forth in our battle for supremacy.  He pins me down and fucks me hard and fast, then I push him off and lick his cock slowly and teasingly, batting away his hand from the back of my head, as he tries to interfere with my technique.

The Boy Next Door rolls on top of me and pushes me on to my side, gets on his knees and pushing my leg forward enters my slick pussy, his hands on my ass and hip, pumping furiously.

The Boy Next Door slides out and I roll all the way over on to all fours, lowering my weight on to my forearms and pushing my ass back on to his cock.  He grabs my hips like handles and fucks me deep and hard.

“Slap my ass, dammit.” I demand.

Crack! Crack!

Two swift slaps in rapid succession, stinging and shocking me as I groan loudly, pushing myself down on his cock over and over.

I smile and turn over again so he gets on top, pushing his cock deep inside me a few times then pulling back and kissing down my stomach to my pussy before lifting his head and thrusting back into me again.  The Boy Next Door is trying to slow his overwhelming urge to come by repeating this action again and again.  Thrust, pull back, slow kisses and then the urgent plunge into my pussy.

I pull his face down to mine and kiss him furiously.  The Boy Next Door can’t take it any longer and explodes deep inside me, spasming and jerking as I lock my legs around his waist, not letting him escape the jolts of electricity.

After an couple of hours of this rolling, wrestling, grunting, slapping and intense fucking we lie together and catch up.  He tells me about work and his dating prospects.  I laugh at the car crash that is his love life and point out his nearsightedness when it come to the women he choses.

They are all the same.  Emotionally unavailable, nervous, athletically-built brunettes with small tits and narrow hips, often with lots of baggage like troublesome exes or a gaggle of kids.

They couldn’t be any more different to my independant confidence and blonde haired, buxom, round ass curviness and I’ve wondered why he deviates so far from his type with me.  It is very clear I turn him on immensely and he might even be a little intimidated by my sexual appetite and experiences.

Often the girls he dates are twenty years younger than him and he always comes on too strong so they run a mile, leaving him to wonder what happened.

I suspect the younger ones also think he has money and disappear when they realise he lives on a very tight budget, pay check to pay check.

Like most men, he doesn’t ask me about myself and barely listens if I volunteer any information, which I rarely do.

Once he has run out of stories to tell, I tell him it is getting late and I need to go to sleep.  He dresses quickly and is out the door with a lingering kiss and a “see you soon.”

And I am absolutely okay with that, as well as the stinging memory of his hand on my ass for the next 24 hours.


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