I shifted my feet and my cock slapped off my skin, splashing little drops of pre-cum over the fine curly hair that trailed down from my belly button. Hot white clouds billowed from my mouth in the cold air, fogging up my glasses and making my scarf damp.
I didn’t want to be here again. Didn’t want to be around by the side of the flat, up against the wall in a ditch of flower beds that had never come to pass. I did not want to have my zipper digging into my ball sack as I tugged my cock to the sounds of Cheryl getting fucked.
But here I was for the fourth time this week.
Out in the slushy rain, just to the left of the bedroom window, silently spitting on my palm so that the strokes were easier, smoother…nicer.
The window was open. The scent of cheap perfume and spilled alcohol pouring into the clean wintery night, the thin curtain that flapped around me saturated with the musky scent of so much anonymous sex.
I’d watched her pick up the guy in the bar down the road. Watched as she’d subtly unbuttoned the first four buttons of her shirt, letting the solid orbs her push up bra made of her petite tits shine for the guy. I’d seen his eyes widen, his pupils dilate. I’d seen that he wanted to fuck her, and so had she.
My hand slipped up the shaft of my dick, focussing on the aching tip. I was remembering how she’d shucked off her shoe beneath the table, and the way the guy had widened his legs and thrust his groin forward as she’d rubbed her fine toes over the hard rope in his jeans.
Cheryl cried out what was probably the guy’s name. I was tempted to look in the window, but I didn’t. I’d made that mistake before, looking when she’d said a name in combination with the words yeah, baby, fuck me just like that. I knew ‘just like that’ meant she’d be facing the window with her tits and cunt on display while today’s dick drilled her from behind.
I could hear the wet sound of it smacking into her pussy, so I knew it was a big one. My hand moved faster over my small one. Oh, how I wished it was inside of her!
But it wasn’t. I wasn’t. I was outside of her window, listening to her panting, grunting, fighting for breath as orgasm raced up on her and tried to steal it away.
Cheryl was coming, and the sound filled me with as much pleasure as feeling plump lips around my cock did. It also filled me with all the pain of a knife to the heart. She screamed when she caught her breath. She begged the stranger to fuck her harder, faster, and I pumped my cock in time with her demands as though my frantic wanking would be enough to make her come again.
She did come again. Twice.
I listened to the unearthly growls of the asshole in there with her shooting his load. Where did she let this one put it? The last one had come on her ass, and the one before that her face. They usually opted for her tits, though. She had great tits, but if I was in there with her right now I knew where I’d put it. I’d cover her stretch marked belly with every drop my tiny dick had to give, then I’d massage it in.
Oh God, the thought of my hands shifting all that white sticky fluid around her squidgy flesh, into her belly button, over her brown, hard nipples.
The front door slammed. Whoever he was, he was gone.
My eyes flicked straight to the window, and there she was. My Cheryl. My wife.
“Give it to me,” she whispered, reaching for my little dick.
Two strokes. That’s all it took. Two strokes and I was filling her hand full of everything I felt for her in that moment. My thighs clenched and released, my asshole spasmed, and my cock jumped rhythmically in her palm.
She parted her dressing gown and the slap of her hand hitting her soft stomach was loud in the quiet garden. I couldn’t see through my fogged up glasses, but I knew she was rubbing it in, just like I’d wanted to. Just like I would later on when we turned in for the night.
“Come on in, baby,” she said, pulling the curtains back into the room. “It’s cold outside.”