Disclaimer: This work is OF COURSE a completely fictional account... I would never advocate any of the actions taken in this story, nor would I ever pursue them myself. Enjoy!
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One of the hardest things for me to deal with in my relationship, after a year and a half of being together, is that I'm not the only one she thinks about when she's laying in bed at night. That sometimes, when she's alone, reaching down beneath the sheets to play between her legs, that it's not always me in her mind. Breathing so hard, trying to be quiet while the muscles tighten in her legs, arching her back to the waves of orgasm quaking her lower body and clenching her asshole tight with pleasure, biting her lip to keep from screaming someone else's name. I can hardly stand the reality, even when it could be a woman in her mind, and sometimes I know that it is. A woman, a celebrity, one of her friend's boyfriends... even someone she created from scratch in her mind. I don't like it. I want to be the only one she sees in her mind, the only one she wants, but the human brain just isn't wired that way. For anyone.
But as much as I don't like it, I've found the best way to deal with her fantasies is through my own, and that's where she comes in.
No, not my girlfriend.
A neighbor. A light-skinned Arabic woman in her mid 30's who lives down the street from my parents. A woman with four children, the oldest about three years younger than me, the youngest about six years younger than him. A woman with long, rich brown hair with subtle, exotic streaks of lighter brown and almost blonde, with a deep seductive gleam in her eyes that would push her body to it's absolute limit in the right hands. My hands.
And her body is what makes her so incredible, especially for a woman with four children. This woman must've gotten married at about nineteen, and started having kids right away, because for four kids, she barely looks thirty. She could pass for anything from twenty to forty, agelessly beautiful, with the perfect hour glass frame that's always capitalized by tight sexy sweaters and thin little shirts that look dipped on over perfect c cup breasts, round and perky just dying to be sucked.
Living in the suburbs just Northeast of Detroit, my neighborhood and high school had a large Arabic population, and let me tell you, every single Arabic girl I've ever seen has had (at least) a full C cup and a big, beautiful, ass well before the other girls started developing. It was amazing. After about thirteen years old, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart from a woman ten years older... their hair, makeup, and fashion sense is breath taking, every one of them is an absolute knock-out. But when it came to the beautiful hair, the gorgeous eyes, the striking facial features, and the trademark shape of those big round tits and that big jelly ass stretching out of the petite but curvaceous frame, nobody defined that rich Arabic beauty like my neighbor.
I wanted her from the time I was twelve years old, every guy in my neighborhood wanted her, and many a night was spent trying to figure out ways to see her naked through a window or seeing up her skirt. We thought of binoculars, telescopes, mirrors on the shoes, camera phones as we got older and the technology first came out, even to the possible extreme of breaking into her house and hiding, at the risk of being caught. It was all we could think about... but none of them ever followed through with our plans. There were other girls, high school became a whole new ball game of attractive women to drool over, but even now, after all these years, no one has ever been the trophy fuck of all time that she still is... and she's still one of my favorite fantasies.
But now the fantasy is different. The fantasy is different because I couldn't handle it anymore. I had been coming dangerously close to realizing this fantasy when I knew that I shouldn't, but she had spent the last ten years draining all the control that I had. All of my restraint was gone with a flash of her eyes, the sultry way she'd walk to get her mail, with her hips swinging pendulously back and forth on her waist, her boobs squeezed into a tight, thin little shirt that nearly burst at the seams. It was all I could take, even at the risks involved.
And the risks were all that had kept me from realizing my fantasy sooner. I knew them well and had gone over them in meticulous detail to try and change my mind before it was too late to turn back. First of all, I risked losing an amazing relationship, one that means everything to me, with all of my heart... and more than that, I risked going to prison, potentially ruining an innocent life, and God forbid her children ever found out... but it was like the part of me that is so drawn to her had been completely disconnected from all rationale. She was the ultimate temptress, and I was almost to the breaking point. I'd watched her for so long, wanted her for so long, and I didn't know that I could move on with my relationship and settle down for the rest of my life until I could say that I had had her and realized my fantasies which had all but taken over my life those last few months.
Part of me even believed that she wanted it, knew that she wanted it, that she too had been waiting for it, and that she knew exactly what she had done to my friends and I, the part that she had played in our fantasies, one that she wanted to realize just as much. I was sure she didn't care about her marriage. I was sure she wanted to be taken from it powerfully and with animal aggression holding her down and pounding her body from head to toe with every long, hard thrust. Her husband is a smaller man who seems very controlling and is always yelling, it's so hard to believe that a guy like him could have managed to land a woman like that... but inside, I knew it wasn't possible. I knew she either ran around on him all the time with other men, or she was waiting for the right man to run around with.
She was waiting for one of us, one of the young boys she's watched grow into men... someone with the energy and the stamina and the libido to keep up with her, the part of her that's been repressed by a husband who works all of the time, has let himself go, and was never able to satisfy her in the first place. He was her comfort, financially and emotionally, he gave her a house and children and supported her so she never had to work and made sure she is always taken care of... but there was still a part of her I knew that he could never take care of. A part of her he could never handle, never control, and never fulfill.
The part of her that would belong to me.
The funny thing was, there was nothing else about her that appealed to me. She was just a statue, a model, a challenge, a celebrity in my mind who was just outside of my grasp... but close enough to touch. She was my mountain to climb, my one chance to step outside of myself and be the complete opposite of who I was, even though I knew there was that part of me. I wouldn't have ever wanted a relationship with her, to whisk her away and elope and sip wine together in front of a fireplace. She could never be my soul mate or my lover the way that my girlfriend was. My girlfriend was truly my heart and my soul, my best friend, the one who I am intimate with, even though we'd maintained our virginity up to that time.
Which was another problem. I wanted to maintain my virginity so that my girlfriend and I could experience each other and share that first time experience with each other and be on the same level mentally, physically, and emotionally... but at the same time, I would feel even worse if I was to explore my fantasy after having given ourselves to each other. When I would lose my virginity to her, it would be my promise that she was the one and only, my first and my last, and that I was completely dedicated to her for the rest of my life, which I knew in my heart was what I wanted.
But, again, any rational thought I might've had just couldn't keep up with the fire in my body to have this woman, my neighbor, and feel the sweat slick her skin as I licked and grabbed and took her by force. I had to undress her, tear off her clothes and taste her, to be inside her and cum in her... to see the look on her face, hear her moan, pick up my things and leave her gasping for breath, legs spread and laying limp over the edges of the bed, exhausted and barely conscious from the powerful orgasm that erupted around the cock she had taken to it's full length. My cock.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. It was afternoon, maybe one o'clock, and I would be picking my girlfriend up from work at two. I saw my little sex pot neighbor drive by and something in my mind just snapped. I know it's cliché, but I literally felt something inside of me give way to the passions in my mind, and I just walked out of the door. My eyes never left that car, easing into the garage with the garage door still open. I was sprinting now... I wasn't even looking around to see who was watching. I was reckless and completely entranced in having her. My heart throbbed as I got closer, part of me couldn't believe what I was doing, begged me to stop, but the voice was far too distant and had lost all control over me. I was on auto-pilot, and there was no stopping me. Right as I got to the opening of the garage I saw her enter the house from the inside... she was wearing tight designer jeans with a long sleeve belly shirt with that extra thin fabric that really stretched over her sexy body, and a brown denim jacket over it. Her hair was down, as long as it had ever been and absolutely beautiful.
I moved toward the inside door to the house from the garage and listened for movement, for voices, for anything to tip me off to where people were in the house. I knew she lived with her mother, her husband who worked during the day and early evening.. and of course her four kids. I felt my first pangs of hesitancy... I couldn't go through with it if I so much as heard a child's voice... I couldn't risk exposing them to what I wanted to do to their mother, so much as an inkling or the look in my eye. I might've been crazy, but I hadn't lost my heart.
It was then that I turned to look for neighbors watching, but thankfully, none were out. I reached for the door knob and cracked it open just a little bit, listening carefully, and heard her feet on the stairs, moving to the upstairs bedrooms. I couldn't hear anything else. No television, no voices, just a big empty house.. which made sense because the children should all be at school, the husband should be at work, and that only left the grandmother. She was the least of my concerns.
Peering around the doorway I made my way carefully into the house, mindful not to make a sound, and began making my way toward the stairs. I was listening very carefully for the sound of footsteps, but hearing none, I began making my way up the stairs, deciding to take them quickly but silently as I wouldn't have much time to make it down the stairs and find a place to hide if she suddenly emerged from a room.
Making it up the stairs, the first bedroom I came to was obviously hers, the master bedroom, with a big walk in closet and a king size bed, freshly made, very neat except for a few articles of clothing on the floor.
