73. Hi, Neighbour! (2)

Iris

The morning after our phone call was a haze of sensory memory. Every time I closed my eyes, I could see Callum through the glass-his chest heaving, his hand working his thick cock, and the look of pure, predatory triumph on his face when I finally broke for him. The barrier of the windows wasn't enough anymore. The digital connection had been a spark, but I needed the fire.

I spent the day at work in a state of agitated arousal, the friction of my lace panties against my clit making me squirm in my chair. I didn't want to watch him anymore. I wanted to feel the weight of him. I needed a reason to cross the street that didn't scream "desperate exhibitionist."

Luck, it seemed, was on my side. When I got home, a heavy summer thunderstorm had rolled in, and the wind had knocked a heavy branch from the oak tree in my front yard onto the power line feeding my house. The lights flickered and died. Perfect.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and a corkscrew, making sure my outfit was a direct provocation. I wore a tiny, black sundress with no bra and no panties. The fabric was so thin that my nipples were clearly visible, already hard from the cold rain. I stepped out onto my porch, shivering as the water soaked through the silk, making it cling to my curves like a second skin.

I ran across the street, my heart hammering against my ribs. I pounded on Callum's door. It swung open almost instantly, as if he'd been standing right there, waiting for the shadow to move toward him.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung grey sweatpants. Up close, he was even more imposing-a wall of lean, corded muscle, covered in a light dusting of dark hair that trailed down into his waistband. His eyes, a dark, stormy grey, raked over my soaked form with a hunger that made my knees weak.

"My power is out," I rasped, holding up the bottle. "And I don't like drinking in the dark."

Callum didn't say a word. He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me inside, slamming the door shut behind me. He didn't take the wine. He shoved me against the door, his hand finding my throat instantly.

"You're a bold little bitch, aren't you?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Coming over here after the show you gave me last night. You think you can just walk into my house and keep playing your games?"

"I'm not playing, Callum," I gasped, my hands finding his bare chest. "I want you to do everything you said you'd do on the phone."

He didn't waste another second. He grabbed the front of my dress and ripped it down the middle, the sound of the silk shredding a sharp punctuation to the thunder outside. I stood there, naked and shivering in his foyer, my tits heavy and glistening with rainwater.

"You're even filthier than I thought," he growled, his gaze locking on my soaking pussy. "On your knees. Now."

I dropped to the floor, the cold tile a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. I unzipped his sweatpants, and his cock sprang free-thick, dark, and already pulsing with an angry, heavy need. I didn't wait for a command. I took him into my mouth, my throat opening up to accommodate his massive girth. He tasted of salt and raw, masculine power.

Callum didn't let me take my time. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back and forth as he dictated the rhythm, forcing me to choke on him. "Yes... eat it, you little exhibitionist. Show me how much you want to be my slut."

He pulled out and dragged me up the stairs to his bedroom-the room I had stared into for weeks. He shoved me against the very window where he'd watched me. The glass was cold against my back, the rain blurring the view of my own empty house across the street.

"Look at it," he commanded, spinning me around and pressing my face against the pane. "Look at the window where you played with yourself. I'm going to fuck you right here so you never forget who owns you."

He entered me from behind with a single, violent thrust that pushed me against the glass. I let out a shattered cry, my internal muscles clenching around him in a frantic, rhythmic dance. He was so much thicker than the toy, a raw, skin-on-skin friction that made my head spin.

I began to move my hips back against him, the wet slaps of our bodies echoing in the room. "Is this all you've got, Callum?" I taunted, my voice a jagged rasp. "I thought a big, strong man like you would be able to handle a little neighborly pussy."

He growled, a primal sound of frustration and lust, and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to my cheek. Crack. Then another. "Shut your mouth, you little whore. You're nothing but a hole for me to use."

He flipped me over, pinning me in a missionary position against the window sill. He reached down and grabbed my tits, squeezing them until I was whimpering. He began to suck on my nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks while he hammered into me.

"I want to hear you beg for it," he hissed, his hand tightening on my throat. "Tell me how much you want my cock stretching you out."

"I want it! Fuck me, Callum! Break me against the glass!"

I reached down and grabbed his hips, pulling him deeper. I was reaching my peak, the tension in my lower belly a white-hot spark. I felt my pussy clenching around him, milking him for everything he was worth.

"I'm close!" I screamed, my body racking with a series of violent, rhythmic spasms.

"Not yet," he growled. He flipped me over again, forcing me into doggy style. He reached down with his free hand, his thumb finding the tight, puckered heat of my ass hole. He didn't ask; he shoved it deep inside while he continued to pound my pussy.

The double sensation was a sensory overload. I was being stretched from both ends, my body a map of pleasure and pain. I began to moan, a low, primal sound of total surrender.

"You like that, don't you?" he taunted, his pace becoming a frantic, driving force. "You like being my little toy. Tell me you want me to fill you up."

"Please! Fill me! I want your cum! Breed me, Callum!"

I increased the pace of my hips, my pussy weeping with my own juices and the friction of his skin. I felt the white-hot spark of my own climax beginning to bloom-a tension so tight it felt like I was going to explode.

"I'm coming! I'm going to fill you up, Iris!" Callum roared, his voice a primal, guttural sound of triumph. "Beg for my hot cum! Tell me you want it!"

"Give it to me! Please! Fill my pussy! I want it all!"

He erupted. A hot, thick stream of cum hit the back of my pussy, his body shaking with the force of the release. I felt the weight of him filling me, a warm, messy reminder of his dominance. He stayed there, buried inside me, his breath ragged against my neck.

"There," he panted, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied ownership. "Now you don't have to watch from across the street anymore."

He pulled out with a wet, squelching sound, leaving me slumped against the window. I looked out at the rain, my body heavy and sated, the white cream of his release already beginning to trail down my thighs.

He didn't offer me a towel. He just sat on the edge of the bed and watched me, his eyes dark and satisfied. "Same time tomorrow, neighbor?"

I didn't answer. I just leaned my head against the glass and smiled. The line had been crossed, the window was no longer a barrier, and I knew that my house would be dark for a very, very long time.