Summary of this Story:
Renee and I gifted our young renters Jake and Sara a two-bedroom in Wicker Park, rent-free for a year before they buy it cheap. Christmas morning, after the 5k run, we strolled hand-in-hand to the oak table setup over the gallery on Damen Avenue. Thumps and Sara’s squeals hit us on the stairs. Renee peeked through the half-open door. Sara bent over the new four-top oak table, gasping into the white cotton cloth from Target. Jake pounded her hips raw. Renee slipped in, advising slaps and dirty talk. Jealousy flickered as we waited in the kitchen, moans peaking. Later, house parties and New Year’s bashes with Anna tangled our raw affections amid open swaps and reclaim fucks.
Here is your Story: I Walk In On My Young Neighbors Fucking the Dining Table
No shock that Angela broke it off with her guy. His hang-ups about his girlfriend’s wild side were plain as day. She was done tiptoeing around him. They chased different thrills. Without patching that up, they didn’t stand a chance.
Both Renee and I figured the split was coming. The redhead fired off a text to her coworker a few days before Christmas, spilling the news. That thing had been limping along for weeks, maybe months.
On December 23rd, Anna tagged along with me to downtown Chicago to grab basics for the apartment: pots, pans, glasses, plates, silverware, knickknacks, curtains, bedsheets, plus extras for the setup we’d give Jake and Sara. I needed a woman’s eye. My girlfriend was on the clock at work. Our renter was the lucky one getting it all. That left the hotwife I dug hanging out with. No chance for a quick screw, though. She lit up seeing me, happy to hit Target and haul back bags of kitchen crap. She was heading to her husband’s for Christmas. I slipped her a little box for under her tree.
Christmas Morning Rush
Christmas Eve, I’d driven down to Milwaukee. My kids tore into the gaming console they’d begged for. Nothing beat kicking back with them for a bit. My ex and her new girlfriend were solid parents, sure, but I still wanted in on their world. Wish they’d let me crash more often.
Come the big day, Renee buzzed harder than any of my kids ever had over Santa. Gifts piled under our living room tree. I’d gone with gold paper. Jake and Sara picked red. My girlfriend stuck to shiny silver.
We knocked out a run first, linking up with the neighborhood crew in Santa hats and elf getups for a 5k loop on Christmas morning. Back home, my phone pinged with a thank-you from Anna for her gift. The silver anklet, she didn’t own one, was spot-on for our crowd. Her husband hadn’t put half that thought into hers.
I’d scored Renee a new fitness tracker. Hers was fading on battery life. This one packed extra bells and whistles. She’d hand her old one to Jake for his jogs. Sara ripped open a stack of nursing textbooks. The little firecracker had nailed her acceptance and started classes after New Year’s. Jake got that video game he’d been eyeing. I pulled whisky and some shirts. Renee handed me tickets to a stand-up show in Chicago, on a night she’d be stuck in Dublin for work.
“Maybe snag a young lady to bring,” she said. I caught her drift dead-on.
Last up, Sara cracked open a shoebox. Keys inside. And a lease agreement.
“What’s this?” she mumbled while Jake skimmed the pages. “Some kinda place? Rent deal or…”
Renee laid it out. “I bought a two-bedroom in Wicker Park, five minutes’ walk from here. Year’s rent-free. Come next January, buy it from me for $350,000, the exact price I paid, plus reno costs. Want it? I’ll hold the mortgage at zero interest. Just $1,200 a month for twenty-three years.”
Jake got it right away. Took Sara a second to crunch the numbers on her friend’s monster gift. “So we’re homeowners?”
“Damn right,” I said. “You two.”
“What if we break up?” Sara asked. Fair point. Renee’s quick hiss and Jake’s dead quiet said nobody’d thought that far.
“He might quit eating my pussy every day, then I’d need a new guy!”
“Like I’d ever stop shoving my face in your cunt!” Jake shot back, shocked at the idea. “Even after you’ve taken a raw load, I go down on you!”
Sara laughed. “You love it!”
My girlfriend cleared her throat. “If you split, that’s on you to figure. Wanna check it out?”
We hadn’t dressed since the run and showers. Our renters itched to see their spot. They bolted ahead, yanking on clothes and dashing out while Renee and I took it slow, strolling hand-in-hand to the apartment over the gallery on Damen Avenue. I still had a key from the owner. Climbing the stairs, we caught the telltale bang of two people fucking. Thumps picked up as we hit the landing. Sara’s squeals cut by Jake’s low growls.
Renee held a finger to her lips. Eyes sparking trouble, she eased a peek through the half-open door into the dining-living room. Sara bent over their new four-top oak table. Jake clutched her hips, pounding away like mad. Door creaked when Renee nudged it wider. They didn’t notice. He hammered the girl with zero chill. She gasped into the white cotton tablecloth I’d grabbed at Target days back.
Breaking In the New Place
Renee flashed me a look, half grin, half heat, then slipped in behind Jake. “Word to the wise: the slut digs ass slaps and dirty talk. Don’t half-ass it just ’cause you’re not at my place anymore. Step up, kid. We taught you better!”
He jumped. “Shit, Renee!” Sara yelped. “We’re christening the new digs.”
“Then get to it!”
Jake kept railing her. Picked up speed with us watching. Hands clamped her hips. Right palm cracked a red mark on her bare ass.
“C’mon,” I said to Renee, steering her from the room to the kitchen. “Let ’em wrap it up.”
She scowled, dragging her feet out the door. Fingers trailed the frame while Jake’s hips slammed into Sara with sloppy need. Skin smacks bounced off the fresh walls. Mixed with her cries into the cloth.
“Just how I pictured Christmas,” she griped, slumping against the black granite counter as I set the spare key by the Mr. Coffee pot. “Stuck in a tiny kitchen waiting for that slut to quit getting plowed.”
Renee’s nails tapped the counter, brows up, waiting on me. The moans cranked louder. Jake went full throttle. Sara’s “Fuck… yes… hit it there…” chased a fat slap.
“You’re jealous.”
“Of Sara?”
“Hell yeah. You’re always pissy without morning dick.”
Living room noise hit max. Sara’s quick huffs. Jake’s grunts. Wet flesh slaps. Built to a shaking peak.
“Took ’em forever,” she grumbled as Sara’s winded laughs leaked through.
Sara wiped up in the bathroom. They piled into the kitchen. We toured the snug place. Still gawking at Renee’s bombshell gift. Hugged her over and over, thanks spilling out.
Living-dining room overlooked tree-packed yards. Tiny balcony hung over the gallery’s low wing, prime sun spot by summer. Sara giggled stepping onto the frosty deck. Hoarfrost webs glittered in weak sun, snagging her hair. “Can’t wait till it’s warm,” she said. “We can fuck outside!”
“One-track mind,” I ribbed. Tongue out was all she gave back.
Kitchen used to be gutted with busted cabinets when we snagged it. Now it breathed easy, black counters bouncing two dozen recessed lights off white cabinets. “Gotta have you over for dinner once we’re set,” Jake said, eyeing the huge new oven. “Could roast a whole hog in there.”
Sara stroked the granite. “Plenty of room for baking.”
“Bet Tom’d scarf your tits and buns, he’s nuts for ’em!”
Trash talk rolled as we hit the top floor. Sleek bathroom, two doubles freshly painted, outlets added, new Berber carpet, curtains up, furniture in, perfect for the young pros. Master bedroom’s black-red scheme screamed sex, made it feel tighter than the pastel other one.
We ditched them at their spot and headed home. House empty, we pounced. Lounge kiss turned to ripping clothes. Fucked on the sheepskin rug by the fireplace snap. Jake and Sara showed later. Boozy feast, killer food, filthy games.
I “won” Cards Against Humanity on dumb plays, capping with “A bigger blacker cock” to Sara’s card: “It’s finally happening and I’m finally doing it; it’s time for what?”
Renters crashed in their room. I kicked back with Dewar’s, flipping to a comedy panel show, then TV’s Miss Sex with the snarky hosts roasting news and guests for an hour. Anna killed it. Sharp, fun, fast. Host asks, “Ever sick of all those shriveled little dicks?” She fires back, “Nah, but don’t take that as a green light to keep snapping pics of yours.” Pause for laughs. “Seriously, get that checked by a doc.”
Renee peeked from her book at my chuckle as credits rolled. “You watching if Anna wasn’t on?” she poked.
I choked out something. She knew. “If it was Miss Sex?”
Shrug. Eyes dropped back to the page. I tacked on, “She’s a pal too, y’know.”
“Anna Wright’s on national TV,” Renee said. “And the chick you bang regular. Good thing I’m not the jealous type over you messing with a celeb.”
“I know. Last three women I fucked? Two got Wiki pages. Just need Sara to step up.”
Head shake. “Chase only famous pussy, you’ll run dry quick,” she said, eyes on her Kindle.
Next day, we hauled our ex-renters into their new pad. Renee drove Sara to Jewel-Osco for fridge and freezer stock. Even with Wicker Park’s shops, grocery, produce, butcher, a quick walk away, stock was thin. Bigger store run to fill the shelves.
We’d still see ’em plenty, but from the 26th, Jake and Sara flew solo. Renee handed a chore list: call utilities, update bank addresses. First time being real adults.
House turned dead quiet after. Six months with Sara around. Most with Jake too. Me gone? Renee had backup. All kinds of sex. I was main man, but Sara snuggled bare and got her off. Kid bent her over the island, railed her hard. Me? Endless top-shelf head from the nympho. She’d sandwich between Jake and my dick, specially when Renee traveled.
Now Renee bolted early for work, no hot girl lurking to climb me over Cheerios. No lace-pantied slut kneeling for my cock. Missed Sara bad. Renee pined for Jake same way.
No shocker Renee scored us spots at the Gold Coast townhouse New Year’s Eve bash. Jake and Sara threw a last-minute rager in their place. I pinged Anna subtle, got invites? Her and Paul in. Theme: black-and-white masquerade. Masks on, clothes mono-color, skimpy as you dared. Masks’d ditch quick. Sex in a sweaty crush of bodies? Plastic sheet over your face turns hellish fast.
We cleaned up nice. Black tux, bowtie for me. Renee in skin-tight charcoal dress, slits sky-high, neckline diving low. Teased me walking up to the spot. Party buzz hummed in the cold air.
Hostess waved us in, recalled last month’s chaos. Sparkling wine in hand. Spotted Anna behind ivory-ebony mask in silk slip, chatting suited young bucks. Slow jazz underneath. Glass clinks, low laughs, looked like swanky rich-folk mingle. Caviar bites. Top-shelf booze. Couture fits. Polished vibe for the elite. I’d be shut out without Renee. She copped to dropping $500 each on tickets en route.
Anna flirted hard. Watched her hook the guys. Hair flip. Girl giggle. Back arch, tits out. Lean-in cleavage flash. Tongue on red lips mid-chat. Pro tease. Knew her game. Fingers stroked wine stem like a slow handjob. Tongue tip wet her mouth. Seductress through and through.
Renee elbowed me. Smirk as she drained her flute. “Go ahead,” she said low. “Proper intro time. Gotta meet the woman my man’s gone gaga over.”
“No worse than you with Jake,” I said. Came off sharp, jealous. Not meant that way. No guilt snap either. Under the mask, her grin faded, brows knit as I bit back.
“Point,” she muttered. Knocked back the rest. “But dodge much? Introduce us. ‘Cause if it’s like me and Jake, that kid’s fucked every hole of mine three times weekly last four months. Never skips pumping me full. Stud stamina, treats me like his cumdump whore.”
Gut punch. Flashed what she’d let our ex-renter do. “Fine then. Gotta meet irresistible Mrs. Anna Wright.”
She clocked us coming. Grin spread as we joined her catches. “Tom. And Renee?” Arms out for my girlfriend’s hug.
Renee took the hug warm. Fingers hung on Anna’s waist. “The famous Anna,” she purred, pulling back to eye her smirking. “Tom raves about you.” That “raves” hung heavy, Anna’s cheeks pinked, eyes dropped shy. “Everything you get up to.”
Anna waved at the suits. “Max, Robbie. Finance bros eyeing a sex club in Oak Park. Renee, Tom’s girl, ops director at a Fortune 500. Tom, my buddy.” Beat. “Only seen her gangbanged by bankers last party, wiped ’em out. Stamina I’ll never touch.”
“And I’ve seen Anna’s nudes blowing up my man’s phone with nasty sexts. Video of their sleazy motel fuck post-date. Pure filth.”
Gasps as my firecrackers circled. Edge crept in sizing each other. Jealousy’s the swap-life tax. Raw feelings. But smiles stayed, jabs playful. No venom.
“Yeah, that cam I rigged last hookup. Love sex tapes. Your man’s got me off plenty.”
“He gets me off constant,” Renee said. “Why he’s mine.” “Mine” landed extra. Like staking claim. Fair, after her fun, I’d reclaim-fuck her fierce to reset us.
“You got a boyfriend, regular girl-on-girl, party romps. Greedy demands.”
“Almost jealous tone,” Renee shot. “Me? One, two quality dicks a night. Quality beats quantity.”
Renee smirked. “I stack both. What’s a party like this for if you don’t get ruined and—”
The room’s bass thump cut their stare-down as more guests pressed in, masks slipping amid laughter and spilled champagne. Renee looped her arm through mine, pulling me toward the bar for fresh drinks, her dress slits flashing thigh with each step. Anna waved us off with a wink, already turning back to her suits. Jake and Sara texted they’d arrived downstairs, buzzing about the crowd. We grabbed Heinekens, the cold bottles sweating in our palms, and melted into the swirl, tension easing into the night’s raw pulse. By midnight, the four of us tangled on a velvet couch, masks long gone, the gold foil wrapper from Renee’s last candy bite crumpled underfoot on the hardwood floor.
