"Bye, hon," Colleen calls into the living room. "Be back in a bit."

"Okay, yeah," he says without removing his eyes from the game, bottle of beer perched high on his belly.

And she's out the door, headed out for her evening run.

Five minutes later, Colleen is straining, gasping, panting, short of breath... vigorously riding Nathan, the blond-haired, blue-eyed specimen who lives the next block over. You see, today is Wednesday, and Wednesdays are the evenings his wife is gone for an hour with their daughters to their Cookie Sprout patrol meetings.

Nathan grunts out his release, bucking and trembling, wrists pinned above him into the arms of the couch, stubble of his jawline catching in Colleen's swishing ponytail. Within seconds, She squeals and whimpers and hisses with a clenching, gushing climax of her own. You see, because she started edging herself by reading some naughty stories with her fingers down her shorts before leaving the house in anticipation of dropping in on Nathan, she's well prepared to finish herself off quickly with her cunt impaled on his sturdy swollen cock.

Five minutes later, Colleen is on the footpath in the park at the ends of their streets, running with a little more spring in her step. After applying a final affectionate squish to the cooling spunk that her indecorous neighbor's throbbing cock injected into the condom she's been clutching, she slows down just enough to drop it in the trash can at the edge of the playground when she turns toward home.

The same can that's been collecting her slimy sperm-filled prophylactics twice a week for the last three months. You see, Nathan's wife takes the girls to their gymnastics lessons on Saturday mornings, coincident with Colleen's weekend runs.