My phone buzzed. It has been on silent for the past year. It was a photo and a text from Mrs. Marshall across the street. The photo showed her large pale tits, stuffed inside a black bra. The pink ring of her aureoles peek above the dark fabric.
The accompanying text read: Bite down on these as I jack you off.
A groan escaped my lips. That would be lovely. Mrs. Marshall was older than me, with bright eyes and a brighter smile. I imagine her grip would be tight and knowing as she jerked me off. I would bite down, perhaps too hard on her plentiful breasts. She wouldn’t mind though, and when I came she would compliment me on my large load.
I am not sure how Mrs. Marshall ever got my number. My wife certainly wouldn’t give it to her. I am not sure if the daily texts are even meant for me. They never mention my name. For all I know, I am intercepting Mrs. Marshall’s dirty messages meant for another.
It seems unlikely though. The texts almost always come when my wife isn’t home. On days that I work in the front yard, the pictures are especially graphic. No, they must be for me.
I delete the message from my phone, but those lovely tits and the tempting text are saved forever in my fantasies.