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(C) Copyright 2003, revised 2013 by frog, all rights reserved, except those described below. Permission is granted to download, archive, and repost provided that the contents are not altered, including the disclaimers, copyrights and limitations on use and provided that no fee is charged for access. This story is erotic fiction intended for adult entertainment. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse the behavior described in this story. All persons and events in this story are completely fictitious and ANY similarity to persons living or dead or to actual events is purely coincidental. Chapter 1
John Watson, popular young college professor, groaned as an errant ribbon of cum arched over the safety net of toilet tissue in his lap and landed directly on the mouth of a big-breasted Penthouse magazine model whose picture had been the focus of his fantasy. More and more of late, John found himself stroking his own cock in attempt to satiate his horniness. His almost perpetual state of arousal was taking a toll on his mental health.
It started with the daily parade of lithe young maidens wearing very short skirts and very tight tops in his college classroom. During the hot, sultry September remnants of summer, his classes always included at least two or three glimpses of delicate panties in a variety of colors and textures accompanied by vast expanses of fit, tanned thighs and devilish smiles. Perky young breasts, firm and taut, also seemed to appear everywhere he looked. From his podium view, at least one or two sets of erect nipples were on proud display at any given moment. After teaching a couple of classes, John could barely think of anything other than the urge to rush home and either jack off or screw his wife’s ears off.
Unfortunately, John’s lovely wife, Julie, was very pregnant. He loved Julie dearly, but with each passing day, sex became more and more uncomfortable and inconvenient for the both of them. Matters were made worse by the fact that two beautiful, sexy women lived just across his back driveway in an adjacent duplex. And, in the other half of his own duplex resided the somewhat less beautiful, but far more voluptuous wife of an assistant football coach at the college.
That very afternoon John had been forced to enjoy the not-so-faint sounds of the coach’s wife screaming with lust. She was just inches away on the other side of the thin wall that separated the two duplex apartments. Her moans and cries were accompanied by the sound of the muscular coach pounding his wife into their bed’s headboard which, in turn, ricocheted off the wall in a pulsating rhythm. It had taken John only one Forum story from his well-worn Penthouse and a small dab of KY jelly to coax streams of hot cum out of his now withering cock. A feeling of frustration hovered over him even as he wiped the stray jism off of his faithful old magazine.
Jacking off simply is not as rewarding as the “real” thing, John thought. Not exactly a Nobel Prize winning discovery.
In the Watson’s upscale neighborhood, four garages of two large duplexes backed up to a common driveway. The broad strip of concrete functioned as a playground for young children and an unofficial commons area for the adults. Across the drive from John lived a young airline pilot, Ray Cooper; his wife, Joy; their three less-than-school-aged kids; and an Austrian foreign exchange student named Irma who served as live-in nanny for the children.
On the other side of John’s place resided Coach Angus Murray, who everyone called Max for no apparent reason, and his plain, but well endowed wife, Mary. Max was one of those rugged, square jawed, muscular jocks who God had blessed with a six-pack abdomen, bright orange-red hair, a broad gleaming smile, likely a big dick, and, conversely, a rather small brain. He had no hope of becoming a rocket scientist (he probably could not spell either “rocket” or “scientist”) and, when the conversation strayed too far from football, Max quickly ran out of things to say. His wife, Mary, massive mammaries and all, rarely spoke at all to John or anyone else for that matter. In moments of orgasmic ecstasy, however, she obviously was very outspoken—a screamer, if you will.
John had just gotten himself zipped up, the soiled tissue flushed, and his vintage “dirty” magazine stashed, when he heard a car drive up next door. From his upstairs bedroom window overlooking the driveway, he peeped out just in time to see statuesque Joy Cooper immerge from her family van followed closely and boisterously by her children, two boys and one girl, all hyperactive.
Joy was a tall, willowy businesswoman who always looked elegant and professional, even when she jogged early every morning. Her scanty jogging attire revealed a lot more than did her business suits. John had fallen into a pattern of working at his bedroom desk early each morning just so he could watch Joy begin her daily routine while wearing almanbahis adres one of those enticing outfits. She practiced a stretching and bending ritual before each run. John knew and appreciated all the parts of her system, especially those that pulled the soft fabric of her running shorts tight against her very shapely ass.
Joy’s long, trim legs seemed to reach down forever before touching the ground. John loved the way the lean muscles in her legs became more defined and blushed red at the end of her exercise. On the hottest days she shed her usual tee shirt and ran wearing only jogging bra and shorts. Those days were John’s favorites because he was rewarded with the additional thrill of firm nipples protruding against soft fabric after exposure to the morning air. Observing Joy in the morning was magical for John.
Watching Joy in the afternoon wasn’t bad either. John silently observed her now as she shouted instructions to her children. An instant after exiting the van, they were running in three distinctly different directions. Joy began to unload sacks of groceries out of the back of the van. John smiled as one wayward plastic bag slipped well under her back seat forcing Joy to lean far over to retrieve it. In doing so, her skirt rose to dizzying heights on the backs of her legs, the darker part of her pantyhose came into clear view, and John was sure that he caught a glimpse of that marvelous juncture of ass and thighs. To John’s delight Joy struggled for a long moment, but still the bag remained out of reach.
Just as she was about to make another attempt, Irma, the young Austrian nanny, hopped out of the passenger side of the van, motioned Joy back, and lithely climbed into the back of the vehicle.
Irma and Joy were opposites in so many ways. Joy was dark, olive, and brunette; Irma was light, pink, and blond. Joy was tall, lanky, and athletic; Irma was petite and delicate. Joy was a mature, elegant woman with a family; Irma was a lively college girl in the midst of a grand adventure in a foreign country. Both women made John’s cock quiver at a simple glance.
As Irma climbed in after the elusive grocery bag, John watched closely. At first, her very short denim skirt hampered the assault. She glanced quickly about, convinced herself that no one was looking, and then hiked her skirt high. That treated John to a dazzling, though maddeningly brief, look at Irma’s tiny green panties. Even this soon after masturbating, Joy and Irma rekindled the urge within him and made his cock hard once again.
“Jesus Christ, I am horny,” shouted John aloud.
His exclamation surprised even him. He quickly pulled the drapery closed for fear that somehow his neighbors had heard him. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the window frame.
Just then, John’s wife, Julie, arrived home from an extended shopping trip. She burst through the back door, rushed up to their bedroom, and tossed an armload of packages in assorted sizes on the bed.
“God, it is hot out,” she moaned while standing in the middle of the room rippling the neckline of her blouse in and out.
John looked longingly at his lovely wife of four years. Even wearing a sweaty frown, she had a beautiful face. John had always found her stunning, even though her distended belly now was her most prominent feature. At this very moment, however, all John could think about were his chances of talking Julie into giving him a much-desired blowjob sometime. He looked at her luscious, full lips and, in his imagination, he could almost feel them softly closing around his turgid cock.
“I am completely and totally exhausted,” sighed Julie. “Until this baby comes I simply cannot shop on a hot day like this one without almost killing myself. I’m going to take a quick shower and go to bed. There is leftover chicken for you in the fridge, honey. I already ate with Marjorie. I just had to…couldn’t wait. Sorry. I was starving. And, afterwards I had this intense desire for a banana split…oh, god…it was soooo good…I can’t believe I ate the entire thing. I even licked the bowl. Now I feel terrible. I love you, honey.”
With that, the bathroom door closed and John’s hopes for a blowjob, or any other job for that matter, vanished.
Not that he had high hopes anyway. Julie was what John described, to himself only of course, as a rather conventional lover…passionate, responsive, fully orgasmic, but not adventurous. She would have died before she allowed herself to moan loudly while being slammed against the bedroom wall in the way that Mary Murray had done just moments ago. That sort of thing in movies or real life elicited only rolled eyes and signs of disgust from Julie.
When John heard the water in the shower come on, he made his way to the kitchen and sat with head in hands. Visions of Irma’s green panties and Joy’s long muscular legs danced in his head. After a long moment, he gathered almanbahis adresi himself and walked to the refrigerator.
To his surprise, magnets on the door supported a magazine picture of ultra-thin actress Nicole Kidman in a magnificently revealing, virtually skintight outfit. The caption underneath, written in Julie’s handwriting read, “You’ll never look like this if you eat like a pig.”
Julie’s message clearly was only for herself, but the picture was John’s last straw. Nicole Kidman’s tight, small, round breasts and long trim legs were exactly like Joy’s, and Nicole’s fairest of fair skin, mischievous eyes, and captivating smile were just like Irma’s. The thought of fucking Nicole Kidman and slamming her against the bedstead a la Mary Murray sent John’s cock into pre-coital preparedness. The throbbing in John’s temples began to imitate the rhythm on the bedroom wall.
“I am going fucking crazy,” John muttered to the refrigerator.
Its only response was to dump a noisy load from its icemaker.
“Thanks…a lot,” answered John. He rested his head against the cold white porcelain door and closed his eyes.
The next day, a chain of events was set in motion that would change John’s life forever. It started with a phone call from Joy Cooper.
“John,” said the silky smooth voice in the receiver. “This is Joy from across the alley. I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday morning, but I have a big favor to ask. Ray is flying, Irma has gone with the kids to the park, and I have to meet a client in the city, so we’ll all be gone most all day. I am expecting a package—a case of wonderful wine—to be delivered this morning and I don’t want it to bake in the hot sun until someone gets home later. Would you be a dear and set it inside for me?”
“Sure,” said John. He loved the sound of Joy’s voice. It hinted of honey-sweet breathiness, businesslike and sultry at the same time. “I’m happy to do so. How will I get in your house?”
“We most often leave the door from the garage unlocked, but if not, there is a key hidden on a hook in the cabinet nearest the back steps. I appreciate this very much. We’ll even share a great bottle with you, but you’ll have to save it until after the baby comes so Julie can have some too.”
“No problem,” said John. “I was planning on grading papers most of day anyway. I’ll be here.”
A short while later, a giant UPS truck rolled up at the Cooper’s duplex and the driver left a heavy looking cardboard container. John watched the truck come and go. Then he made his way through the garage and into the Cooper’s house.
When John walked into the eerily silent, deserted house, a voyeuristic thrill surged through his body. He was alone where Joy and Irma lived and could do anything he wanted while there—a most intriguing, stimulating thought. The feeling sent signals directly to his cock. In turn, it began to ready itself for action.
John retrieved the wine from the front porch, then stealthily made his way back through the house and into the center of the Cooper’s greatest intimacy, their master bedroom. It smelled just like Joy—a particular delicate and intoxicating fragrance that seemed to follow her always. It was one of John’s favorite scents.
John glanced quickly around the room. It was a typical bedroom—with assorted chairs, a large computer, various tables and dressers, and a giant king-sized bed. John began to imagine the activity that surely must go on in that soft bed, namely, Ray Cooper fucking Joy whenever he want to do so.
Without really thinking, John opened the top drawer of a dresser near the door. Inside he found a cache of Joy’s carefully folded lingerie. He picked a pair of her lacy panties and brought them to his nose. Again, Joy’s characteristic scent, more vivid this time, filled his senses. The thought of where those very panties had touched sent chills through John and made his cock begin to swell and tingle.
John, you pervert, he thought, when was the last time you got turned on by sneaking into someone’s underwear drawer…sixth grade, maybe…yep, sixth grade with Mom’s underwear! John almost laughed aloud at his private little memory.
John replaced Joy’s panties and ran his fingers delicately over one of her bras. He noted its size and nestled the cup in the palm of his hand.
So, that’s about the size of them, he mused. Smallish, but firm, I bet…no sag even after three children. I hope Julie keeps her figure like that after our kid comes.
John moved quietly across the room and surveyed the nightstands on either side of their huge, king-sized bed. On one, a copy of Sports Illustrated rested under a dog-eared copy of Tom Clancy’s Clear and Present Danger…obviously Ray’s side. Atop the other nightstand, a romance novel by someone named Heather Graham was neatly arranged along with Stephen Covey’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective People…Joy’s side, almanbahis adres reckoned John.
John eased open Ray’s drawer. Roy, you naughty boy, thought John. Inside were a couple of dirty novels along with a really nasty porn magazine.
So Ray needs a little help in getting revved up on occasion! Hard to imagine that he would need extra stimulation with a wife like Joy. I get a hard on just watching her unload groceries for crying out loud.
John fixed the drawer and its contents as he had found them and moved to Joy’s side of the bed. Along the way, he carefully roughed up the carpet to disguise the footprints he was leaving in the thick pile. He slowly pulled open Joy’s drawer and his eyes popped at what he saw inside. John’s heart began to pound audibly.
There in Joy’s drawer was a soft, rubber vibrator about four inches in length. It had ribs and bumps along its sides and came to a soft tapered point on the end. John immediately put the illicit little machine to his nose. It had a marvelously musky odor of Joy and sex…Joy’s sex.
John mind began to race.
I guess…when Joy is home and horny and Ray is off piloting planes somewhere, this is how she takes care of herself. Maybe she even does it while talking to Ray on the phone or something.
In his imagination, John envisioned the always unruffled, dignified businesswoman Joy sprawled out in bed and locked the throes of an orgasm with this vibrator pressed deep inside her pussy. That image made his cock spring to full attention and yearn to be stroked.
John turned the knob on the back of the bullet-shaped object and suddenly it came to life. John contemplated the vibrator for a moment and then touched it to his crotch. Delicious tingles surged through his hard cock.
Unexpectedly, an out of place sound came from outside the duplex. John’s heart leaped. He hurriedly returned the vibrator to the drawer and ran through the duplex to its back window. His heart was pounding. The driveway however was empty. He then ran to the front window. Again, there was nothing. John’s could feel his pulse throbbing in his head. The danger of discovery and the thrill of the voyeur combined into a powerful aphrodisiac. All of John’s senses and his libido were on highest alert.
John crept back past a slightly open door and quickly recognized it as the entry to Irma’s room, a sparsely decorated domicile of a college student obviously living in temporary quarters. A bed, computer desk with two full-sized machines, bookshelf made from concrete blocks, and chest were pretty much it for furniture. Posters of the “Motherland” were pinned to the walls. Clothes and other belongings were strewn about. Pictures of Irma with various friends, mostly boys, lined the edges of a large mirror over the chest of drawers.
Irma’s lingerie drawer was very different from Joy’s, John discovered. Nothing was folded. Instead everything was in one great pile. Mixed together were tiny string bikini panties and even tinier thongs, mere wisps of almost transparent fabric, along with a few of her bras made of miniscule bits of lace or satin. The biggest surprise was a very large box of condoms resting along side her lingerie.
Multicolored…ribbed for maximum pleasure, the box read. John’s heart rate immediately increased.
Apparently little Irma is, as they say, sexually active…probably is fucking some of those muscle-bound near idiots who populate my classes, thought John.
That image stimulated John’s already overactive imagination once again and his cock responded accordingly. He could almost see a smiling Irma, legs spread apart, beckoning some pimple-faced undergraduate to plunge his hard cock inside her…after putting on a condom, of course…multi-colored, ribbed, and lubricated…for maximum pleasure!
John stooped over and retrieved a pair of Irma’s panties from her dirty clothes hamper. They smelled even more of pussy juice than did Joy’s vibrator. The earthy scent sent John completely over the edge. Urges emanating from his small head took total control. He felt compelled to jerk off right then and there and he knew precisely how…with the help of Joy’s cute little vibrator!
John went back to the Cooper’s bedroom, retrieved Joy’s vibrator, and returned to Irma’s room. He took from her mirror a couple of Irma’s pictures, one of her in a swimsuit, plus her tiny soiled panties, and spread them out on the bed. In an instant, he had his trousers around his ankles and was applying the whirring vibrator to his throbbing cock and balls. The panties would be the receptacle for his cum. He reasoned that, even if Irma discovered the deposit of dried jism, she could never determine its origin.
The vibrator felt heavenly on John’s cock. He closed his eyes and imagined what tiny Irma would look like naked—soft skin, softer hair, small nipple-tipped breasts, delicate blond pubis, wet waiting pussy—all the while pressing the vibrator against the tender underside of his dick. He felt cum building quickly in his balls and he prepared to blast his load into Irma’s little panties in record time. All of his awareness focused on the sensations coming from his tingling dick as he approached orgasm.
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