Wake up and snap out of it, the psychologist part of me lectured. Just look at yourself and how you’re acting! In a few days, you’ve mutated from a normal woman into one of the characters in Christy’s stories.

An inspired smirk crossed my face when I remembered that Christy Scarlet Whitehorn also had heated, mental debates with her inner voice. In her stories, she frequently called it “that bitch in the mirror,” and she was at constant odds with her more sensible alter ego. At first, I thought she did that to break the fourth wall to cleverly add exposition that didn’t pull the reader out of the story. Later, my psychology training made me wonder if she was just schizophrenic. She did, after all, openly admit that she was crazy.

That smirk grew into a broad smile as I mentally willed my Mrs. Freud to stuff herself into a Skinner Box, and I resolved to prove her correct. Still nude and covered in encrusted mud, dirt, and sex from last night, I sat on the couch where I’d fallen asleep the night before, spread my legs, and fingered my still-horny pussy while I relived yesterday’s events. I’d had my first, ever, lesbian sex, twice. It was also my maiden foray into phone sex, as well as my first threesome. It was also the only time I’d ever been fucked into oblivion; I loved each and every second of it.

Glen’s truck was already parked beside our driveway, although I didn’t see him. He had to have arrived before I woke up. Lost in the memory of his dreamy, hypnotic eyes hungrily staring up at mine as he expertly licked and fingered my pussy, I felt my snatch overheat and gush out volumes of hot, sticky nectar. He popped up, right in front of the window, eliciting a startled cry.

His sexy face smiled in that very seductive, roguish smile of his, reminding me of the hot passion of his kisses, so urgent and emotional that you drowned in them. He was shirtless, his entire torso ripples of muscle tapering down to a slender waist. Even if I had wanted to, I wouldn’t have been able to stop fingering myself. Those grayish eyes roamed over me, noting my nudity, my cum-covered flesh, and my fingers buried between my legs. His expression showed delight, lust, and mirth.

I waved with my free hand, then squeezed my breasts for his pleasure as much as my own. Glen nodded, smiling, and dipped below my line of sight once more. One of his hands emerged, resting on the sill of the window as he pulled himself upright. Those hands had recently explored my body, stimulating every nerve to the point that my flesh became one, giant erogenous zone. That morning, instead of igniting my nude body, his hands grasped cups of gourmet coffee.

“Coffee on me, this morning,” he said, never taking his eyes off me. He sipped his beverage, watching me, then dipped back under my field of view.

Enthralled, I walked to the bay window and looked out. He had to have been there for quite some time, as a large portion of my driveway now looked like random flagstone with brick borders. Did he ever sleep? I watched as he slopped handfuls of wet concrete onto the driveway, smoothing it by hand, and making it look perfect. Ignoring the fact that I was naked and had just been caught masturbating, I opened the front door and walked out, bending down to retrieve my cup of coffee.

Not looking up, to my chagrin, he began shaping the newly placed cement, carving individual stones by hand. “I have gloves for you in the truck,” he mused. “If you feel like having fun.”

At least a hundred dirty things ran through my head as soon as he said, “fun.” That inflection of his, the hinting at carnal delights, put me into an immediate stupor.

“I should probably put on some clothes, first,” was all I could manage.

He stopped working for a moment, pondered his concrete art, then ran his penetrating gaze over my soiled, nude body. I sipped my coffee.

“Pity,” he said appreciatively. “If you must.”

The rest of the day was a blur of fun, arousal, and lusty bonding. Glen acted no differently than he had since I met him. I was worried, since we’d recently had sex, that he’d feel empowered to take liberties with me or claim some sort of ownership like men always do. Glen, however, once more ignored my advances, my innuendo seemingly lost on him.

Finally, when we were a little more than halfway done texturing the drive, I asked, “After last night, why aren’t you all over me?”

He smirked, shrugged, and seduced me with a glance. “That was last night. Just because you wanted it last night doesn’t mean that you do now, or from me, even if you do.”

My jaw dropped. “So, if I want you, again, how do I go about it?”

“As we discussed, everything is up to you.”

“How novel. Okay, I want you. I want that cock.”

“Let’s finish the driveway, and then we’ll all go out to dinner together. My fiery goddess went on and on about how sexy you are, and I’m sure she’ll want to join us if you’re up for that.”

The only part I wasn’t up for was the waiting. As if he knew that he was torturing me, he kept on working. Glen called it “playing in the mud,” which wasn’t terribly far from the truth. The way he mixed, placed, and shaped everything by hand was astounding and very erotic. There’s just something about a sexy man working hard, fully invested and focused on what he’s doing. The intensity was mesmerizing. His hands moved with assured confidence, kneading and shaping the concrete into natural-looking stones, reminding me of the pleasure his hands brought when they kneaded and caressed me.

Covered in sweat and concrete grime, his body was pure sexiness. I understood why his recent client list was mostly women. When I could manage to concentrate on anything other than the needy throbbing in my genitals, I managed to carve some stones of my own. He was right; it was fun; it was meditative and creative, like stone art.

Glen helped me with that, encouraging me, and giving me confidence. His manly hands covered mine as I clumsily held his tools while he guided me through the techniques to etch an artistic stone from the newly laid cement. Being with him was like living out a fantasy. He was charming, delightful, and so sexy that I began talking very much like Christy just to keep the banter going. It was with much regret that I noted the driveway was completed.

“So, even though you had your cock buried inside me and your tongue up my ass, nothing’s changed?” I asked once more for affirmation.

“Of course not,” he replied. “We are neighbors and friends, first and foremost. Treating you differently would both dishonor and disrespect you.” It made sense when he said it, but his chivalry didn’t quench my thirst for his body.

With promises to meet later for dinner, Glen left. His truck hadn’t even backed out of my yard before I’d slammed the door shut, stripped off my clothes, and grabbed my new toys. Back onto the couch, which had seen more sexy action in the past few days than most furniture sees in its entire life, I grabbed my new, thick, vibrating, dual shaft dildo, the one Christy talked me into buying.

Plushtales lit up my phone’s screen as I flicked the toy’s power on. It vibrated and pulsed in my palm, enticingly. I immediately went to Christy’s profile, delighted to see some new pictures. One of them was the toy she had purchased for herself during our shopping trip. The pink nub of the toy was saturated in her pussy juice, more of it flowing out of her recently-abused pussy. The blue sheets beneath her were soaked. “Went toy shopping with my new friend,” was the caption.

I emulated her photographed actions and plunged the toy into my sopping cunt. I wailed in ecstatic bliss at the sensations. When I found the perfect setting, while perusing her most recent pictures, I dropped the phone as a powerful orgasm ripped through me. When I picked it back up, the toy still humming away inside me, the shorter appendage flailing over my clit, there was a new message from Christy.

“Are you OK? I hope we didn’t freak you out last night.”

“I’m fine,” I typed back. “Your husband got me all worked up, so I was trying out my toys while looking at your pictures.”

“You’re jilling over me? So hot. I was just fucking myself thinking about last night.”

“You’re masturbating?”

“Yes,” she typed back. “So wet.”

I turned the vibrator up to a higher setting. “Now you have me doing it, again.”

“I want more of you,” she responded, her letters slightly jumbled. “I want to taste you, lick you, suck your nipples, and fuck you.”

“How will you fuck me? Do you mean Glen fucking me?”

“Fuck Glen,” she replied. “I want you. He’ll have to wait. I was thinking about bending you over and fucking you with a strap-on from behind.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Fucking cumming again. Come over tonight and let me taste you.”

“I’m going out to….” was as much as I managed to type before another orgasm consumed me. “I just came again,” I typed in its stead.

It went on like that for a few hours. I drained the charge on the first toy, exhausted another, and was on my third toy, soaking in the tub while I chatted with Christy. She was just sex, sex, and more sex, obviously in a mood. I also stalked her profile and posts, the psychologist part of me analyzing her once more.

While I loved her, enjoyed her companionship, and was ever so grateful that she shared her husband with me, I concluded that the woman was truly delusional. Her timeline showed an endless list of gifts from Glen, infinite amounts of thoughtful gestures, and the extent he went to for holidays made romance novels seem bland and unimaginative. No matter what, she couldn’t figure out what he saw in her. I had to agree with her.

Furthermore, Glen lived in his own, little, fantasy world. The thing was, his delusions matched hers. His need to be gallant and an over-the-top romantic paired well with her need to be constantly romanced. Her inability to keep her legs closed meshed perfectly with his perverted, voyeuristic tendencies. If any two people were ever made solely to complement each other, it was those two lunatics.

Seeing a new story in my alerts, I clicked on it, still buzzing my clit while in the tub. “Nice Neighbors” was an instant hit on Plushtales. My third toy died right at the juicy bits, forcing me to finish the story with only my fingers.

“I just read your new story. I’m flattered, and I wore out all my toys.”

“You kinky bitch,” she shot back. “Just wait until tonight.”

“How do you write so well, so quickly?”

“I write pretty fast when I’m in the groove,” she wrote back. “When I feel it, it just flows…like my pussy.”

“Did you study writing or something? You’re so good at it.”

“No,” she sent a funny emoji along with the text. “I just write what happens to me. I wanted to be good at something other than being a slut; so now I write about how much of a slut I am.”

“But your writing is so hot!” I retorted. “You’re very good at it.”

“Not really,” she responded. “I’m just a slut that uses semicolons.”

Then, a text from my husband pinged on my screen. “Oh, shit,” I typed to Christy. “John’s on his way home, now. What do I do?”

Panic, guilt, and worry ate at my heart. Did I just destroy my marriage? Even though my husband seemed academically aroused by this new, sexual direction, living with it was a completely different story. And, with my neighbors? Would John ever be able to trust me when he has to go out of town?

“Chill out. Dinner for four, then,” Christy typed within seconds. “Send him over as soon as he gets home, dress super sexy for dinner, go without panties because it’s sexy, leave it up to me, and follow my lead.”

“No panties? I can’t. I’m a married woman. This is going to be terrible. Why did I do this?”

“Relax. Whatever you want to do, we’ll be fine; you’ll be fine.”

“I just don’t know if I’m comfortable going through with all of this. Oh shit, he’s here, already. Later.”

I quickly signed off, mentally noting the idiocy of hiding my online erotic browsing when I’d just fucked both of my neighbors.

“I’m in the bath, John,” I called out, “upstairs.”

All my worries were shunted aside when he opened the bathroom door a few minutes later. John was standing there, wearing his khaki IT-tech pants, shirtless, and wearing the collar.

“We got done a day early, Lyn,” he was saying as he entered. “I’m so happy to be home to you and I can’t…” his words died in his throat when he saw me, nude in the bath, one leg hanging over the side of the tub.

“Don’t just stand there drooling, John. Bring me a towel.” I very intentionally got out of the bath, letting the suds linger at strategic places on my body. Making a huge show of stretching and bending, I toweled myself dry while my husband looked at me with passionate lust that I hadn’t seen in him for years.

“You are to remove your collar, for now, make yourself decent, and head over to the neighbors. I’ll be along, shortly. They’re taking us out for dinner, tonight.”

John nodded. “Does that mean that we’ll…” His expression finished the question for him.

“Maybe,” I sternly stated. “It depends on everyone’s moods and how things go. Run along now.” I shooed him away, reminding him to dress well.

Mentally justifying my actions by telling myself that I was taking my time, I struggled with both my conscience and figuring out what to wear. Christy dressed like a porn star in heat, so her idea of “sexy” obviously didn’t mean slightly tight jeans and a little cleavage. My mind went down the list: cute, suggestive, alluring, sexy, slutty, trashy, blatant whore, and, finally, fuck toy in heat. Christy’s normal, everyday wardrobe lay someplace between “trashy slut” and “blatant whore.”

Making certain my makeup was perfect, and my hair was teased out to sultry, cascading, bedroom-sexy waves, I ended up choosing a little black dress and matching flats, then stressed over what underwear to put on. Do I make certain they match in case the dress came off? Do I follow Christy’s diabolical, twisted scheme and go sans panties?

Part of me admired her quick thinking. While I panicked over what could be, my slutty, redheaded neighbor took it all in stride. A thousand things from her stories and Plushtales posts floated up to my surface thoughts. She was very experienced in long, convoluted seductions. It made me wonder.

When I was finally as ready as I could make myself, I locked up the house and went over to their place. I just knew that John’s jealousy, ego, and insecurities would have gotten to him by now. I’d be walking into a heated argument, yelling and screaming, perhaps even a fistfight. Imagining my husband screaming, “You violated my wife,” and attacking Glen, I feared for the worst. I truly hoped that Glen wouldn’t hurt him too much.

Ready to intervene, I was amazed when I heard their laughter. They were seated outside, around the fire pit, laughing and joking like close friends. John looked decent in casual dress pants and a button-down shirt; he’d even combed out that scruff he calls his hair.

Glen looked like a fashion model featured in a “how to dress to make women wet” article. Black, tailored, pleated pants, an iridescent plum, tapered shirt, and stylish loafers covered his amazing body. Christy, however, really stood out.

Her red hair glowed vibrantly in the sun, cascading locks of fire with lazy curls. Wearing simple, strappy sandals, her dress sexually stunned. I recognized it from her pictures; I’d even masturbated over it earlier that day. She called it her “fuck me” dress. The thin, cottony material molded itself to her body, looking more like painted-on color than actual clothing. Backless, the rear was cut out to just beneath her waist, a scandalous hint of her posterior enticing one’s gaze. The front swooped over her chest, showing nude flesh, from her neck down to nearly her belly button, her round breasts covered but not hidden by strips of cloth. The bottom of the dress screamed “sex.” While the skirt was full-length, wide slits on both sides exposed her legs, hips, and obvious lack of panties. The effect was more of a slutty loin cloth, its sole purpose to advertise the inability to wear panties under that dress.

When she saw me approaching, Christy jumped up, her firm, high breasts bouncing and ran over to hug me.

“You look so good in black,” I told her. It was better than telling her that she looked Morticia Addams doing porn.

“Thank you so much,” she responded with her habitual catchphrase. “My good friend and mentor, Kay, likes black dresses, and her influence is responsible for this one. She’s a nurse, very sexy and horny, and I love her to death, the poor girl.”

“My delightful vixen,” Glen called out - to her, not me, unfortunately. “John and I are going to check out my new project in the workshed. We’ll be right back.”

“Miss me!” she smiled.

She turned to me. “They’re going to talk things out without John being embarrassed by us listening in.” Then, without prompting, she continued babbling. “Kay helped me figure out my problems with my writing and held my hand as I learned. She was also my main confidant after I met Glen. I pestered her every day for months. It’s a wonder she still talks to me.”

“And so you dress like her?”

“Oh, Goddess, no,” she laughed. “Kay has her own style. We’re slut-sisters on Plush. I so admire her. Edible?”

My husband was nowhere to be seen, so I grabbed a few and munched on them. “You are such a bad influence,” I told her as I sat.

“You love it. I bet you’re super-excited.”

“I am not!” My tone showed my falsehood. “I’m in way over my head, here. I keep wondering how many other women you’ve corrupted. Is this your thing? Do you get off on it?”

Her hand snaked up my dress, fingertips tickling my thigh until it reached my cleanly-shaved, uncovered pussy. “But still, you went without panties,” she beamed.

Her face grew serious, but her hand remained on my pussy. “If you want to stop things, just say so. It isn’t good for anyone if everyone isn’t enjoying themselves.”

“Just tell me,” I paused when her hand sought my clit, found it, and started rubbing it. “How many others have you led down this orgiastic path? Is this how you get your rocks off?”

Very thoughtfully, she replied, “I never thought about it, but a few of my Plush friends have expanded their horizons due to my enthusiasm. I think it’s hot and horny, but I don’t actively seek to corrupt anyone. It’s just that The Goddess has a way of putting people together at the proper time.”

It was my turn to babble incessantly. “You’re like a recruiter for a sex cult or something, aren’t you? You’re a slut-whisperer! I know,” I declared, “you’re Lilith, incarnate, and Glen just has to be Lucifer, the most beautiful of all the Angels…”

Her whimsical expression made my rant cease. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She smiled. “That’s amazing! You should write.”

We shared a laugh. Christy isn’t one to take offense, which is good. “So, what do we do now?” I asked.

Her finger penetrated my pussy, making me moan. “Do you want to see this through, or not?”

Just then, Glen and John emerged from one of the outbuildings. They were both smiling in camaraderie.

“Yes,” I answered. “Let’s keep going. I’m in too far to stop now.”

“We’re cool,” Glen announced. “Let’s go eat.” Looking at me, he said, “Did you get even more perfect and gloriously alluring since earlier? You’re glowing.”

“Why don’t you boys get the car ready, and we’ll be right along,” Christy suggested.

John just stared as Glen chuckled. “We’ve just been dismissed, so those two perfect, lovely goddesses can plot and gossip. Let’s go.”

Taking my arm in hers, she walked me, slowly, toward the car. “Now, after our third drink or so, mention my writing, maybe one of my stories if something I say reminds you of it, and we’ll get John all primed for later.”

“You devious whore! Honestly, how many women have you turned into raving sluts? Am I one of your sexual projects?”

“Join me,” she laughed, “join the Dark Side. We have cookies…and edibles.”

The restaurant, the same one that had delivered our dinner a few days ago, was a diamond in the rough. Nestled between scenic mountains, a small river merrily bubbling behind it, the Grotto was all tasteful stone and dark wood, twinkling fairy lights illuminating the trees that lined the entrance path. Walking in, the men holding the doors for us, the interior was classy and gorgeous.

“Glen! Christy!” the cute Asian greeter exclaimed. Very unprofessionally, she ran out from behind her station and embraced them both, in turn. The passionate kiss between her and Christy, as well as Glen grabbing her cute, little butt, was not lost on me.

“Aubrey,” my slutty neighbor blurted out. “when are you coming over again to hang out?”

The greeter grasped both of Christy’s hands and said, “Soon. I miss you guys and all the fun we have.”

After very polite introductions, we were shown to our table.

“Is Luke cooking tonight?” Glen asked Aubrey.

“Yes, he is, handsome,” she smiled. “He’ll be out as soon as he can.”

Christy whispered into my ear. “Aubrey spent a wild night with us a few months ago. She’s so wonderful.”

Drinks were ordered, and tasty appetizers were served along with them. Dining out with Glen and Christy was almost like getting celebrity treatment. The entire staff knew them, the owner knew them, and Glen knew some of the patrons. Service was excellent, with most of the staff dropping by to chat.

The chef, Luke, made an appearance, showered in kisses by Christy and a manly embrace from Glen.

“He’s so sexy, good in bed, too!” Christy whispered.

“Is there anyone in this town you haven’t had sex with?” I shot back. I laughed when she pointed at my husband.

Dinner was exquisite. As much as we were all enjoying ourselves, I almost forgot that John and I were having dinner with the couple that screwed my brains out the night before. It did, however, seem so naughty sitting there knowing that my sexy, manly neighbor had seen me masturbating, earlier that day, and I’d spent my afternoon having cyber sex with his wife.

Finally, after our third round of drinks came, another soda for Glen as he was driving, Christy and I were talking about life’s little quirks. I was well into inebriation at that point, enjoying the warm, tingling buzz.

Conversation, about everything, flowed as we dined. About halfway through our desserts, Christy’s hand dropped under the table and began caressing my exposed thigh lightly and slowly. At first, I was nervous as we were in public and both of our husbands were seated across from us, but, I soon relaxed and enjoyed the feeling. The naughtiness of risking discovery added to the sexual thrill. When her fingers found my wet slit and began lightly moving over my clit, I had to concentrate in order to not squirm, moan, or expose our clandestine, public play.

“Yeah,” she said in response to a comment about her attitude towards sex, “the Goddess had a singular purpose in mind when she made me.”

“That’s right,” I exclaimed. “You went into detail about it in one of your stories. The one where you talked about how your paganism is integrated into your daily life.”

“Oh, the witchy one,” Christy intoned, getting the hint. “I didn’t know you’d read that one.”

“You’re an author?” John inquired.

“Not exactly,” she answered. “I write a little bit for a website; that’s all.”

“My sweet, divine perfection is being overly modest,” Glen said. As he spoke, his eyes devoured me, making me tingle. “She’s a prolific author and has even won a few contests.”

“Placed in one,” she corrected. “That’s very different from winning plural awards.”

“What do you write?” my husband asked.

“Smut.”

“Like porn?”

“No, erotica. Porn is just sex with only placeholder characters. I write stories with lots of steamy action, erotica.”

John turned to Glen. “You’re okay with this?”

“Of course. She’s very good. Plus, she gets some kinky idea and then just has to try it out. How can I not be cool with that?”

“I’ll drink to that. What kind of stuff do you write.”

With that, we were off to the races. Christy described her writing and her social life on Plushtales, and my husband was deeply enthralled and smitten. Christy began talking about her writing, highlighting the parts I starred in, while not letting my husband know I was the main character. She continued fingering me as she talked. Glen knew I think, but my husband was oblivious.

“That man over there keeps staring at us,” I said, interrupting Christy’s very horny description of her most recent story, a retelling of last night’s events.

“Do you think he can tell I’m playing with your hot pussy?” she giggled to me, tossing her red hair with a shake of her head.

“You’re what?” John exclaimed.

“Easy there, tiger,” Glen soothed. “I thought you knew.”

“Let me see,” my very excited husband cried too loudly, beginning to look under the table.

“Hold yourself,” Glen stopped him. “If you draw too much attention to it, you’ll spoil the moment. Instead, look, appreciate, and admire; it makes it hotter.”

“Yes, it does,” Christy responded.

“Just look at her,” Glen said.

Christy had been stroking my clit, very softly, for a few minutes, knowing that her telling my husband what we all did last night would get me going. The mental arousal of getting fingered in public, while the woman you’re having an online and real-life affair with tells your husband all about the slutty things you did and loved the night before, was indescribable.

Glen continued. “Look at the way her cheeks are flushed, how hard her nipples are, two perfect points of emphasis on top of pure perfection. Watch how she’s breathing, the way her chest heaves, her body showing little spasms.”

“And my incredible wife; just look at her,” he continued. “The fact that she’s fingering Lyn in public has her all worked up. Look at the way she’s squirming, how excited she is.”

“He’s right,” she said as she traced the wetness between my legs and flicked my clit. “I’m so wet right now that I might have to go into the bathroom and finger myself.”

“No need,” Glen said, staring at the both of us with open lust. “Now, watch your wife, John. Look at how Lyn is so close to orgasm, but trying to not scream her head off. See the way she’s writhing and the way her taut stomach quivers.”

“She’s very quiet during sex. She won’t make a sound,” my husband stated. Christy giggled at that, inserting a finger into my cunt as she did. Glen just gave me that pussy-drenching smile of his and winked. They both knew better.

I spoke up, trying to sound firm and dominant, but my voice cracked under her molestation. “Collar on the table, now, John.”

John glanced around, nervously, his swarthy complexion showing some pinkish hues. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the collar; it landed on the table with a clink.

“What is that delightful device?” Glen mused.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Christy started talking, first. “It’s the punishment collar. When one of them lusts after me, they put on the collar and the other punishes them.”

“Ha!” he laughed. That sexy, blond man grabbed the collar and put it on his neck. “I didn’t know there was a secret club of people who lust over you. I’m so in! I’ve been horny for you all day, constantly. I so need punishment.”

The uproarious laughter broke the tension and covered my horny moans. “If you want him, tonight, grab the collar, Christy.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said. “Stand up, you stud, and I’ll collar you.”

Right there, in front of everyone in the restaurant, my slutty neighbor collared my husband.

“Let’s go,” Christy said. “Did that make you hard, John?” She patted his erection and led him out. Laughing and very horny because the situation was so hot, I followed.

“Let’s go home and fuck,” she said to us when Glen emerged from the restaurant.

Although the ride home only took a few minutes, it foreshadowed exactly how the rest of the night was going to be. Taking the backseat with my husband, Christy had his pants undone and his cock in her mouth before we’d even left the parking lot. I turned around my seat to watch as we all conversed about our expectations. Feeling Glen’s hand running up my legs, I pushed back onto his hand as he fingered my pussy.

“I’ll be right back,” Christy gleefully shouted when we arrived. She sprinted into the house and emerged in less than a minute. In her hands were two bottles of wine and an intimidating strap-on in its harness; an ornate pipe for smoking herbal substances was between her lips.

Setting down the wine and sex toy, she pulled the pipe from her mouth and said, “Remember? I said that I was going to fuck you, tonight.” She lit the pipe, took a long draw, and handed it to me.

To be continued…