Craving Her

I can't stop thinking about her—my neighbor with those full, swaying hips and that teasing smile that promises sin. Every night, I watch from my window as she slips into her sheer nightie, her nipples hardening against the fabric under the moonlight. Tonight, I snap. I knock on her door, heart pounding, cock already throbbing in my jeans. She opens it, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been waiting for you," she purrs, pulling me inside. Her hands are everywhere—unbuckling my belt, yanking down my pants, freeing my thick shaft. She drops to her knees, lips wrapping around me, sucking deep and sloppy, her tongue swirling over the head as saliva drips down her chin. I grab her hair, fucking her mouth until she's gagging, tears streaming, but she loves it, moaning like a whore. Then I hoist her up, rip off that flimsy nightie, and bury my face between her thighs. Her pussy is soaked, shaved smooth, clit swollen and begging. I devour her, tongue lashing her folds, fingers plunging in deep, curling to hit that spot that makes her buck and scream. She cums hard, juices flooding my mouth, but I'm not done. I flip her onto the couch, spread her legs wide, and slam my cock inside her tight, dripping cunt. She's so wet, so hot, gripping me like a vice as I pound relentlessly—deep, brutal thrusts that make her tits bounce and her eyes roll back. "Fuck me harder!" she begs, nails raking my back. I oblige, flipping her doggy-style, ass up, spanking those cheeks red as I rail her from behind. Her pussy clenches, milking me, and I explode, flooding her with hot cum that leaks out down her thighs. But the craving? It only grows. She's mine now—every night, every hole.