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Naughty Wife Desires: Taken by the Young Stranger
Taken by the Young Stranger
By Deborah Cockram
© Copyright 2017 by Deborah Cockram and After Midnight Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Everyone in this story is 18 or older.
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(Naughty MILF Taboo, Older Woman Younger Man First Time Cheating Romance )
By Deborah Cockram
The experts all say men are sexually stimulated mostly by sight, while women are turned on more by touch.
The experts shouldn’t be so quick to discount sound, because right now my body is covered in sweat, my breathing is shallow, and by god I can’t help myself – I’m running my hands up and down my body, pressing my breasts together, feather-touching my thighs with my fingertips and now, I’m slipping my right hand inside my panties.
All because of the sounds coming from my neighbors – a young man not much more than half my age and some woman he has with him, moaning, whimpering, what were hushed whispers growing louder, more demanding.
I'm sitting on the front upstairs deck of my condo, and the two of them are in the next unit, from the sounds of it just inside, with their sliding glass doors wide open to the night.
"Yes," she cries out. "Yes, harder, please god harder."
I moan, and momentarily a flash of fear shoots through me – what if they hear me? I hold my breath for a second, my heart pounding in my chest, the sound of the blood rushing through me echoing in my ears.
"Yes, god damn it, harder," she screams, and I know they haven't heard me.
I press my head back against the lounge chair, one hand running up and down the swell of my breasts, squeezing, pressing, my other hand inside my panties, fingers slipping inside, pressing against my clit. I shudder, groaning, my own orgasm filling me, rising like the ocean waves I hear when I'm down at the beach, higher, stronger – I call out, a little soft cry, as I reach my own climax, imaging what it would be like to be on the other side of this balcony, inside their condo, his weight on me, his cock inside me.
I hear him grunting now, her calling out – not really saying any words, just noise, whimpers, cries, and then the unmistakable sound of two people reaching that fevered pitch simultaneously, their climaxes joining, taking each other higher because they are together, then he exhales long and hard and I do the same, trying to match my own body's fever with theirs. With his.
I shudder at the next sound, the sliding glass door – the one behind me – gliding along its track, opening. My skin crawls and my blood seems to freeze.
Quickly I slip my hand from my panties, rest my elbow on the arm of the chair, my other arm resting across my chest. I freeze at the voice – my husband, Randy. Did he see what I was doing? Did he stand there at the glass door, watching? Or did he not even bother looking out, just sliding the door open to check on me?
More likely the latter. He doesn’t do a lot of looking around, not a lot of noticing. Especially when it comes to me, it seems.
Still, I fear he may have seen me, might suspect what I was doing.
I stir and moan, acting maybe like I might have been drifting off to sleep.
He laughs. "You were dozing off, weren't you?"
I sit up, look at him sheepishly, letting him believe that.
"Don't see how you could do that out here tonight," he says.
I know what he means. It's a humid evening, the moisture thick in the air. A few blocks away, at the beach, a strong constant breeze would kill the humidity, make it so much more comfortable. We live in Ocean City, New Jersey, just five block off the beach. Our home is half of a two-story duplex. We own and live in the right half, with both an upstairs and a downstairs, and the other half of the duplex is rented out by the week, at least during the late spring and summer.
I wish we owned the other half too, as much money as it brings in we could pay the mortgage for both units, but it's the property of an out-of-state owner, managed by a local real estate company. Most of the time families stay there each week – it's a mirror design of our unit, with three bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, kitchen, dining room and living room.
And decks. There's a front and back deck, both upstairs and downstairs. I like sitting out here on the upstairs front deck on our side, watching the joggers and bikers and beach goers going back and forth, even when it's hot and humid outside. Hubby doesn't like it – though I don't blame him. He owns his own construction firm, mostly small two-and three-man projects, so he spends most days out in the hot sun working.