The Married Neighbor and the Dessert That Wasn’t on the Menu

There are encounters that seem written in advance, as if two people had spent months brushing against each other without touching until an ordinary weekend changes everything. That’s what happened to an acquaintance of mine, Adrián, and he told it to me with so much detail that I still don’t know whether he was bragging or needed to get it off his chest.

Back then he was twenty-two and lived in a student flat near the university. He was one of those guys nature had dealt a good hand: almost six-foot-three, tanned skin, a dark mane hanging down past his ears, and honey-colored eyes that could disarm anyone. He had a gym-built body and a boyish face that made anyone mistake his real age. And, as he confessed to me himself one night between laughs, a cock that had also been generously endowed, thick and good-sized, the kind that doesn’t go unnoticed even under pants.

One Friday his roommates went off to their hometowns and he stayed behind to study for a Monday exam. He went down early to do the shopping, planning to lock himself in and not show his face all weekend. In the elevator he ran into Marisol, the neighbor from the floor above, who was coming down holding her little daughter by the hand.

“Morning, neighbor. Up early, aren’t you?” she greeted him, smiling.

“Yeah, I’m going to stock up and stay home. I’ve got an exam on Monday.”

“Oof, what a week you’ve got ahead of you. We’re off to camp, right, sweetheart? Well, she is; I’m just taking her to school and then they’re off for two days.”

“Then she’s the lucky one,” he said, winking at the girl.

“I’m the lucky one,” she lowered her voice so the little girl wouldn’t hear. “My husband’s taking the older one fishing to his parents’ village in a couple of hours, so I’ve got the whole weekend to myself. Clean, tidy, and breathe, because you wouldn’t believe the few months I’ve had.”

“Then we’re both doing our own thing. I’ve got hours of chair, table, and desk lamp ahead of me.”

Each went their own way. Adrián shopped quickly, put everything away, and sat down to study with a discipline that lasted exactly until midmorning, when the doorbell rang. He got up annoyed, looked through the peephole expecting a leaflet distributor, and found Marisol on the other side. So he opened up, of course.

“Hi, is something wrong?” he asked, worried.

“Nothing, man. Here, I brought you this so you won’t waste time cooking,” she said, handing him two containers. “Baked mac and cheese and some chicken cutlets. They’re to die for.”

“But Marisol, you didn’t have to…”

“Of course I did, I’d already made them and in the end they didn’t take them to the village,” she lied with a ease he didn’t pick up on. “Heat them up, eat, and back to the books. There you go.”

“You’re an angel, honestly. Thanks a million.”

“You’re welcome. Get studying.”

Marisol got into the elevator and Adrián stayed in the doorway, watching her for longer than he should have. He had always found her attractive, even if she was about fifteen years older. That morning, for the first time, he really looked. The floral dress marked curves that seemed drawn on purpose, her chestnut, very curly hair fell over her shoulders, and when she turned to get into the elevator he discovered she had a round, high ass, the kind that begs to be grabbed, and big tits that swayed with every step beneath the dress. A body that didn’t fit the idea he had built of “the neighbor upstairs.”

Well, damn, Marisol, he thought, and went back to his notes with a new, suspicious enthusiasm, already with his cock half hard, pressing against his jeans.

He studied with unusual concentration, ate in fifteen minutes because all he had to do was heat things up, and in the middle of the afternoon, when he stopped for a snack, he heard noises upstairs. It was her, moving furniture and vacuuming. In those flats you could hear everything, and he knew it all too well.

When he sat back down at the table he realized he had almost finished what he’d planned to spread across the entire weekend. He didn’t know whether it was because of the time he’d saved in the kitchen or the smile Marisol had left stuck to his chest, but the fact was he was well ahead of schedule. And with time to spare, his imagination took flight. It flew high. He pictured her on all fours on his kitchen table, dress hiked to her waist and her cunt shining, begging for cock. He got hard as a rock, so much so that he had to adjust himself inside his pants.

He had an idea. A crazy one, probably a terrible idea. But it excited him so much that it lifted him out of the chair, out of the flat, and parked him in front of Marisol’s door before reason could stop him. He knocked. And that was when he began to suspect it might not be such a good idea, but it was already done.

“Hi, student. What can I do for you?” she asked when she opened the door.

Adrián went silent. Marisol had changed out of the dress into a white tank top with no bra — her pointed nipples were visible against the fabric — and green shorts that showed off legs he hadn’t really noticed until then. That image, instead of making him back off, emboldened him.

“Nine,” he blurted, voice rough with nerves.

“Nine? What are you talking about?” she laughed, not understanding.

“Sorry. I mean, do you feel like having dinner at nine? Since you made lunch for me, I could make dinner.”

“But didn’t you have to…?”

“I already know almost everything. It’ll do me good to switch off,” he cut in, regaining control of himself. “A couple of hours left. Plenty of time. What do you say?”

“Well, for once I’m not the one cooking,” she smiled, amused. “Okay, fine.”

“Pizza and beer okay?”

“A real chef. Perfect, I’m very much into pizza.”

“Nine, then.”

“Nine. Study up, sunshine,” and she closed the door.

Sunshine? Had she just called him sunshine? The effect of that word was immediate and brutal, so much so that it took him half an hour to settle down, and he seriously considered taking it in hand and easing the tension with a quick wank before the blood made him explode. He even got it out, gave himself a couple of tugs thinking about Marisol’s mouth, and stopped. He preferred to arrive loaded for dinner. Between one thought and the next time ran even faster than his imagination, and when he realized it there was barely half an hour left. He went to the kitchen, assembled the pizza, put it in the oven, and ran to the shower to wash off the smell of being cooped up under the desk lamp for so many hours.

He was coming out of the bathroom when they knocked again. It was nine-oh-five. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed another to cover his chest, and once in the hall, he regretted it: he didn’t want it to look like he was showing off his body. He spoke through the door.

“Just a second! I was in the shower.”

“Relax, relax. Don’t open naked,” she laughed from the other side.

“No, no, I’m not naked,” he stammered.

“Then open up, man, I’m not going to get scared.”

Not to seem childish, he cracked it open. Marisol, who was already turning back toward her own flat, came back toward him, pretending to cover her eyes with one hand.

“I don’t want to see anything, okay?” she teased.

“I’ve got a towel on. Honestly. Clothes. Towel,” he babbled.

She lowered her hand and looked him up and down without much disguise, her eyes settling right where the towel outlined a bulge she definitely didn’t miss.

“Go on, finish getting dressed, and I’ll take a look at that pizza, it smells amazing.”

“Yeah, I put it in a while ago. Sorry for the mess, my roommates…”

“Relax, I lived in a student flat too. I wasn’t born a lady,” she said, and disappeared toward the kitchen.

***

While Adrián got dressed, Marisol took the pizza out of the oven, opened herself a beer, and decided it was a good moment to snoop around the place. She started, of all things, with the bedrooms, with the not-at-all innocent intention of finding out what that towel was hiding that had set her pulse racing. She’d spent months imagining this scene in the few private moments her life allowed her, months fingering herself in bed while thinking about the neighbor downstairs as her husband snored beside her, and she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

His room was the only one with the light on besides the bathroom. She edged up to the half-open door and saw more than she expected. Adrián, from behind, still damp, was awkwardly putting on deodorant. The legs, the defined back, the tight, perky ass, everything the tracksuit he wore every day had hidden from her for months. She watched in silence, breathing harder, her cunt already starting to wet inside her panties. When he turned slightly and gave a sidelong glimpse of what the towel had concealed, Marisol let out a sigh: a thick, long, heavy cock, even half-awake, with weighted balls beneath it. Her mouth watered. She decided that night there would be dessert, whatever he said. She stepped back on tiptoe and went into the living room, pretending to set the table, pressing her thighs together to calm the throbbing the sight had triggered.

“I’ve taken the pizza out already! Are you done? It’s getting cold,” she called, smiling to herself at her own wickedness.

“I’m ready!” he answered, oblivious to the spying.

He appeared in worn jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and house slippers. Nothing spectacular, and yet Marisol only needed that to imagine him in a thousand different ways, all of them ending with that cock she had just seen buried to the hilt inside her.

They ate and talked about the usual: her work, his exams, how little either of them rested. An entertaining conversation flowed between beers and increasingly poorly hidden signals. She leaned over the table on purpose so the neckline would open and he could catch a glimpse of the shadow of her loose tits. He looked at her mouth every time she bit into a slice. At some point, familiarity outweighed prudence.

“So, what about dessert?” she tested, enjoying her advantage.

“What I told you. There’s fruit,” he replied, more at ease now. “Although…”

“Although what?”

“You see, when I have dinner with a woman, the answer to that question is usually ‘it’s right in front of you.’ But with you I don’t think I should say that.”

“No? Why? Do you see me as some old lady?” she bristled.

“Not that. It’s just that I want to fuck you so badly that, if you say yes, I’m afraid I won’t know when to stop,” he said, locking eyes with her in a calm that left her speechless.

“Wow. I think you’re mistaken,” she tried to sound confident, almost disdainful.

“Maybe. At your age, maybe you couldn’t keep up with me. You’re right, better a drink and we’ll leave dessert,” and he fell silent again and looked at her mouth.

“You’re quite the cheeky bastard, Adrián. Does that routine work on the girls you usually go out with?”

“Honestly, yes, though I don’t usually have to try this hard. But you’re different.”

“Why? Surprise me.”

“Because no one had ever faked so badly that they didn’t like what they were looking at. Did you like what you saw earlier, while I was changing? Did you like my cock?”

“What…?” she began, blushing, but he was already standing and heading for the kitchen, leaving her with the words stuck in her mouth.

Those were eternal seconds. The kid from downstairs, the one who had had her crazy for months, was toying with her, and hard. And she loved it. She got up, pretended to be normal, and followed him with the rest of the dishes. When she entered the kitchen, he was rummaging in the fridge.

“Look, we already have dessert,” he said, closing the door and turning toward her.

“What is that?”

He didn’t give her time for more. He took her by the hand, led her to the living room, sat her on the sofa, and standing in front of her, showed her what he’d hidden: a tub of whipped cream. He brought it to her lips and waited. One second, two, and Marisol opened her mouth. He squeezed and a stream went in, another stayed outside, and she stuck out her tongue to catch it.

“No, wait. That part’s mine. We have to share.”

Adrián leaned in slowly. Marisol hesitated over whether to let him or not, and then she let him. His lips brushed hers with a softness she hadn’t expected, unhurried, almost tender, and then he pulled away a few centimeters, both of them already breathing differently.

“Keep going,” she asked.

And he did. This time with more need, less control, until their tongues found each other in a dance that seemed rehearsed, too coordinated for a first kiss, as if months of silent desire had prepared the ground. He pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, sucked her as if he wanted to drink her whole up, and she answered with the same hunger, biting his lip, panting into his mouth. From there, time stopped mattering and everything else stayed outside those four walls.

***

They kissed on their knees, him in front of her, their hands growing more impatient by the second. Adrián grabbed her tits over her shirt and squeezed them with both hands, pinching her nipples until a rough moan escaped her. He yanked the fabric up without patience now, went straight for a nipple with his mouth, sucking it while his other hand kneaded her other breast. Marisol dug her fingers into his dark hair and pressed his head against her chest.

“Ah, you bastard… like that, eat them…” she gasped.

He ran his tongue from one nipple to the other, nipping at them, sucking until they were swollen and hard as stones. When he straightened up because the position had become uncomfortable, she took the chance to grab his belt, pop the button, and drag the zipper down in one jerk, never taking her eyes off him. She pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees in one motion and what sprang free drew a smile of pure hunger from her: Adrián’s cock, already fully hard, thick, long, the tip gleaming and a vein running clearly from top to bottom.

“Fuck, student, you really do have a beautiful one…”

She grabbed it at the base with her right hand, lifted it, and licked from the balls to the head in a slow stroke, savoring it. She reached for the whipped cream, squeezed, and covered his entire cock in thick white. Then she started licking it from end to end, unhurriedly, cleaning it thoroughly, sucking first one ball and then the other, taking them into her mouth, before rising again to the tip and swallowing it whole. She took it down to her throat, gagging a little, and pulled it back out slick with spit. She sucked him slowly, both hands helping, lips sealed around the corona, tongue circling the head, squeezing the base so he wouldn’t come yet.

“Fuck, Marisol, what a way to suck…”

She answered with a mouthful, going up and down, faster and faster, sucking hard on the way out, moaning with the cock in her mouth so he could feel it vibrating. She grabbed his balls and massaged them to the rhythm of her mouth, feeling them tighten. His body began to tremble, his hips thrusting on their own toward her face.

“Stop, stop…” he begged.

But she didn’t stop. She sped up, deeper, faster, swallowing him whole again and again, until Adrián gave in in shudders, standing up, holding on to the back of the sofa. He filled her mouth with a thick, hot spurt, and then another, and another, while she didn’t let up, swallowing everything he gave her without losing a drop, sucking the tip until the last convulsion. When she finally let him go, she ran her thumb along the corner of her mouth, licked her finger, and smiled at him with shining lips.

“Delicious. Now mine.”

She leaned back on the sofa, pulled up the skirt of the dress she’d changed into, tore off her underwear, and lifted her legs, spreading them wide, offering herself with a shamelessness that left him breathless. She had a shaved cunt, plump, with lips swollen and shining from how wet she’d gotten during dinner.

“Your dessert. Enjoy it.”

He snorted with a look of pure vice. Far from losing steam, his cock was just as hard, pointing at the ceiling. He knelt between her thighs, grabbed her legs under the knees, spread them even wider, and buried his face in her cunt. He started by licking the whole length of her lips, up and down, without touching her clit yet, breathing over her, torturing her. He slid his tongue deep inside, fucking her with it, pulling it out and pushing it back in, sucking up the juices already starting to run down the cleft of her ass.

“Ah, fuck, fuck…”

He went back up to the tip and trapped her clit between his lips, sucking it gently at first, then harder, while sliding two fingers inside and starting to work them toward her spot. He alternated: fast tongue, slow tongue, fingers in, fingers out. He turned the trick around and dragged his tongue underneath, over her perineum, until he brushed her asshole, and Marisol jerked so hard she almost knocked him over.

“Ah, you son of a bitch, not there… ah, yes, keep going, keep going…”

He went back to the clit with his lips and kept working with his fingers, now three of them, going in and out with a wet sound that bounced off the walls of the room.

“Keep going, keep going, for God’s sake, I’m going to come,” she panted, crushing a cushion against her mouth to muffle the cry.

She came apart in violent spasms, pressing his head against her cunt with both hands, arching her whole body, her legs trembling around his ears. A warm gush soaked his chin. Adrián didn’t pull back: he kept sucking her clit, softer now, stretching out her orgasm until she moaned with pain and pleasure at once, his hand still working her cunt with wet fingers while she came back to herself.

“That’s enough, student, you can stop… thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. We’ve only just started.”

When he stood up, Marisol understood what he meant: he had managed to put on a condom while he finished his work, and now he was asking to continue with his cock hard again, ready for whatever was left of the night. She smiled, settled herself, and winked at him.

“I expected no less. Come here and put it in already, because I’ve spent months imagining it.”

There were no more words. He made room on the sofa, spread her legs, and she herself grabbed his cock and guided it to the entrance of her pussy. Adrián clamped his hips and started to slide in slowly, centimeter by centimeter, feeling how she opened around him, tight, wet, burning. When he was in to the balls they both moaned and stayed still for a moment, savoring it.

“Fuck, you fill me up so well, you bastard…” she whispered with her eyes closed.

A gentle rocking began and grew with each thrust. He came almost all the way out and drove back in to the hilt, his hips slamming into her ass, making her tits bounce with every push. Marisol answered with her own hips, her breathing growing more broken, grabbing his ass cheeks, digging her nails in to ask for more.

“Harder, harder, tear my cunt up…”

And he obeyed. He grabbed her legs, threw them over his shoulders, and drove brutal, hard, slapping thrusts into her, skin crashing against skin, the sofa creaking underneath. His cock went in and out shining, soaked with her juices. He spit on her tits and kneaded them while he kept fucking her.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m going to come again,” she begged, digging her nails into his back.

And she came amid gasps and broken words, trembling all around his cock, clamping it with spasms that almost made him come himself. He stopped when he felt her asking for calm, his cock buried to the hilt, throbbing inside her.

“Oh fuck… I need more,” she said, coming back to herself. “Now me on top.”

She moved him aside, sat him on the sofa, and mounted him from behind, giving him the sight of that huge ass opening to swallow his cock. She took it in one stroke, to the hilt, and let out a guttural groan. She started riding him without mercy, rising and falling on her legs, bouncing her ass against his hips, while pinching her nipples with her own hands. Adrián grabbed her hips and helped her sink deeper, watching his cock disappear and reappear between those cheeks.

“That’s it, slut, ride that cock…”

“Yeah, say things, keep saying them…”

“That you’re a whore, that’s what you are, look at you gulping it down with that cunt…”

He slapped her ass and the sound cracked like a whip, and Marisol screamed with pleasure, tightening her cunt around his cock. He hit her again, and again, until the cheek turned red. She leaned forward, bracing herself on his knees, offering him the full view, and Adrián took the chance to slide a thumb wet with saliva into her asshole, easing it in slowly. Marisol moaned like a madwoman.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, like that, with both holes full…”

It didn’t take long for them to get there together. He grabbed her by the hips, drove her down onto his upward thrusts, and came in ropes inside the condom, growling against the back of her neck, his thumb still in her ass while she came for the third time, screaming into the sofa back, trembling all over, collapsing onto him, drenched in sweat. One last long, messy kiss, with her turning over her shoulder to reach his mouth, left them stuck to each other, breathless, with his cock still inside, throbbing.

They stayed still for a while, catching their breath. Then they opened another beer, naked on the sofa, and laughed as they confessed how long they’d been silently wanting each other. She told him about the wanks in the bathroom thinking of him, he told her about the times he’d wanked hearing her walk in heels on the ceiling above. They found each other a couple more times that same night: once in the shower, with her braced against the tiles and him taking her from behind under the hot water, and once in the student bed at dawn, slow, exhausted, sucking and eating each other until they came one last time. They agreed to repeat it whenever they could, with no complications and no promises.

Did they keep that promise? Honestly, I don’t know. Adrián never told me how the story went on, and I never asked again. I suspect they did. But who knows. What do you think happened?