Quick visit to Mandy whilst her hubby is out on a run.

I parked on her road just after twelve, engine off, windows down just enough to catch the spring air. My hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles white for a second, then I force them to relax. I know the routine by heart now—Martin’s jogging route, his predictable pace, the way he kisses her cheek at the door before heading out. I’ve timed it three times from this same spot. Today I let a full three minutes pass after he disappears around the corner at the end of the street. Three minutes is enough. Long enough for him to be gone, short enough that she’s still standing in the doorway, waiting.

She pokes her head through the crack, dark hair falling across her cheek, and her eyes find my car immediately. She knows my model, my colour, the way I sit low in the seat. A quick glance left, right, then she pulls back inside. The door stays ajar.

I kill the engine, pocket the keys, and cross the pavement in a dozen quick strides. The front door swings open before my knuckles touch wood. Her hand grabs my wrist and pulls me into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind me, and then her mouth is on mine before I can say a word.

Her lips are soft but hungry, pressing hard, parting immediately so her tongue can slide against mine. I taste coffee, a hint of mint, something warm and female that makes my cock twitch inside my jeans. My hands go straight to her short black hair, fingers threading through the silky strands, gripping the back of her head as I kiss her deeper. She moans into my mouth, a low throaty sound that vibrates through my chest.

We break for air just long enough for her to whisper we only have about an hour or so, breathless, her eyes glossy. I don’t answer with words. I answer by pulling her hips into mine, feeling the heat of her body through her thin summer dress, and kissing her again as I walk her backward toward the stairs.

She breaks the kiss long enough to turn, leading the way up, and I watch the sway of her ass under that light floral fabric. Her hand drags mine up the steps, and by the time we reach the landing we’re both fumbling at each other’s clothes. She yanks my shirt over my head before I can unbutton it, buttons popping, scattering across the carpet. I don’t care. My fingers find the zipper at the back of her dress, pull it down, and the whole thing slides off her shoulders like water. She steps out of it, kicks it aside, and stands in just a black lace bra and matching panties, skin flushed, nipples pressing against the lace.

I drop to my knees in front of her, run my hands up the backs of her thighs, hook my thumbs into the waistband of her panties, and pull them down slowly. She steps out of them, lifts one foot, then the other. I press my mouth to the soft skin just above her mound, kiss her there, feel her shudder. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me up.

Standing, I unhook her bra with one hand—practice makes perfect—and let it fall. Her tits are full, nipples hard, and I take one in my mouth immediately, sucking, flicking my tongue across the peak while she gasps and arches into me. My hand cups the other, squeezing, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger until she whimpers.

We stumble into the marital bedroom. The bed is made, duvet smooth, pillows fluffed. Their wedding photo sits on the dresser. I don’t look at it. I look at her, completely naked now, skin glowing in the afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains. Her eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on my jeans.

She drops to her knees in front of me, unbuckles my belt with practiced speed, pops the button, drags the zipper down. My cock springs free, hard and thick, and she doesn’t hesitate. Her mouth is on me, hot and wet, tongue swirling around the head before she takes me deep. I groan, grip her hair again, let my head fall back as she works me with a rhythm that knows exactly what I like. She sucks hard, hollows her cheeks, pulls back to lick the shaft from base to tip, then swallows me again. Her hand cups my balls, squeezing gently, and I feel the pressure building fast.

Not yet. Not like this.

I pull her up by the shoulders, kiss her hard, taste myself on her lips, then guide her backward until her knees hit the bed. She falls onto it, legs open, pussy already glistening, pink and wet and ready. I kneel between her thighs, lower my head, and taste her.

She cries out the moment my tongue touches her clit. I lap at her slowly at first, teasing, feeling her hips buck against my face. Her hands grip the duvet, fingers twisting in the fabric. I spread her open with my thumbs, lick deeper, push my tongue inside her, then back up to circle that tight little nub. Her moans turn into gasps, then screams, her body trembling as I suck her clit between my lips and flick it with the tip of my tongue. She comes fast, hard, her juices flooding my mouth, her thighs clamping around my ears. I keep going, softer now, drawing out every last shudder until she collapses onto the mattress, panting.

I crawl up her body, kiss her neck, her collarbone, her mouth. She tastes salty, sweet, female. My cock presses against her thigh, slick with her wetness and my own pre-cum.

She turns over without a word, gets on all fours, presents herself to me. Her ass is round, cheeks spread slightly, pussy dripping from behind. I position myself, guide the head of my cock to her entrance, and push.

She’s so wet I slide in all the way on the first thrust. We both moan. I grip her hips, start moving, slow and deep at first, watching my cock disappear into her, feeling her walls clench around me. Doggy style on the marital bed. I fuck her harder, faster, my balls slapping against her wet flesh. Her face is pressed into the pillow, but I can hear her muffled screams, feel her pushing back against me, taking every inch. I lean forward, reach around, find her clit with my fingers, rub her in circles while I pound into her from behind. She comes again, her body convulsing around my cock, milking me.

I pull out, breathing hard. She knows what I want. We’ve done this enough. I spit on my hand, slick my cock, then press the head against her tight rosebud. She pushes back, inviting. I enter her ass slow, inch by inch, feeling the incredible pressure, the heat. She gasps, grips the sheets, and I pause to let her adjust. Then I start to fuck her ass, steady rhythm, deep and possessive. Her moans are different now, deeper, more animal. I watch my cock slide in and out of her tight hole, watch her ass stretch around me, and I have to slow down or I’ll lose it too soon.

I pull out again, and she turns over, legs wide, hand reaching for me. She lies back, pulls me on top, guides my cock back inside her pussy. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I fuck her missionary, face to face. Her eyes are locked on mine, dark and wild, her mouth open, breath hot on my cheek. I kiss her while I thrust, deep and slow, then faster, building toward the end.

She tells me she wants to ride me. I roll onto my back, and she straddles me, takes my cock in her hand, sinks down on it with a long shuddering sigh. She rides me hard, her tits bouncing in my face, her head thrown back, her wetness coating my thighs. I grab her hips, help her bounce, watch the pleasure twist her features. She leans forward, kisses me, tongue tangling with mine, and I thrust up into her from below.

I flip her onto her back again. Missionary. My weight on her, her legs hooked over my shoulders, my cock driving into her deep, so deep I feel her cervix with every stroke. She’s screaming now, no pretense, no worry about the neighbors—Martin is miles away. Her nails dig into my back, her heels dig into my shoulders. I feel that familiar tightening in my balls, the fire building at the base of my spine.

I pound into her, faster, harder, her moans turning into a single continuous cry. She comes again, a long shuddering orgasm that clenches around me, and that’s it, I’m there, I bury myself as deep as I can and I let go. Hot cum floods her pussy, pulse after pulse, filling her, spilling out around my shaft. I keep thrusting through it, milking every last drop, until I collapse on top of her, spent, sweat-slicked, breathing into her neck.

We lie there for a long moment, tangled and sticky, her fingers stroking my hair. I feel her heartbeat against my chest, still racing. Then she whispers we should get dressed.

We untangle slowly, reluctantly. I pull out, watch a trail of cum seep from her pussy onto the duvet. She smiles, grabs a tissue from the nightstand, cleans herself quickly. I find my jeans, my torn shirt, pull them on. She slips into her dress, smooths her hair, gives me one last kiss at the top of the stairs. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes satisfied. If only these walls could speak to Martin. His not so innocent wife being a dirty slut...

At the door, she peeks out. No sign of Martin. She kisses me again, quick but deep, then pushes me out.

I walk back to my car, get in, start the engine. The clock says 12:58. Just under an hour. Perfect.