The Neighbor’s Panties on My Doorstep

I told my wife I was going out for pan y queso—simple shit, just a quick run to the corner bodega. The girls were already asking for dinner, and Mariana, bless her soul, just nodded without looking up from her phone. “Don’t take long,” she said, like she always did. But long was exactly what I had in mind.

Because Valeria, my fucking neighbor from 4B, had been texting me all day. “Pana, you home?” Followed by, “My husband’s away… again.” And then the killer: “I’m not wearing panties under this dress. Come see.”

I should’ve ignored it. I knew I should’ve. But that’s the thing about me—I’ve never been good at saying no to trouble.

I knocked on her door, and there she was, leaning against the frame in that tight red dress, smirking like she’d already won. “Took you long enough,” she purred, pulling me inside. The second the door shut, her hands were on my belt, yanking it open like she was starving. “Fuck, you smell good,” she muttered, dropping to her knees right there in the hallway.

I groaned as her mouth wrapped around me, hot and wet, her tongue doing that thing—that evil little swirl around the tip that made my knees weak. “Coño, Valeria…” I grabbed her hair, not gentle, and she moaned around me, like she’d been waiting for me to manhandle her. Maybe she had.

I pulled her up, spun her around, and shoved her against the wall. Her dress rode up, and sure enough—no panties. Just smooth, round ass and that pretty little pussy, already glistening. “This what you wanted, eh?” I growled, sliding a finger between her folds. She was dripping. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

“All day,” she panted, pushing back against my hand. “Thinking about you. About this.”

I didn’t waste time. I unzipped my pants, lined up, and drove into her in one hard thrust. She screamed—loud enough I had to clamp a hand over her mouth. “Shhh, pana, you wanna get us caught?” But she just bit my fingers and rocked back, taking me deeper.

I fucked her like that, standing up, her back against the wall, her legs shaking. Every slap of my hips made her whimper, her nails digging into my arms. “You like that, eh? Like when I fuck you like you’re mine?”

“Y-yes—fuck, yes—”

I smirked. “Your husband ever make you come this hard?”

She didn’t answer, just clenched around me, and that was answer enough.

I flipped her around, lifted one leg over my shoulder, and pounded into her until the whole fucking apartment echoed with the sound of skin on skin. Her tits bounced, her moans got louder, and when she came, she scratched me—raking her nails down my chest like a wild fucking animal.

I pulled out last second, spilling over her stomach, her thighs, that pretty red dress. She gasped, her body still trembling. “Mierda… you’re insane.”

I wiped myself off with my shirt, grinning. “And you’re welcome.”

Then my phone buzzed. Mariana. “Where’s the bread?”

Shit.

I kissed Valeria quick, slapped her ass, and bolted out the door. By the time I hit the bodega, I was sweating, my shirt was inside out, and I reeked of sex. But when I got home, Mariana just sighed and took the bag. “Took you long enough.”

If only she knew.