The afternoon sun streaked across our kitchen table, catching the droplets of sweat on my wife Lena’s tits. She wore nothing but a thin, white tank top and those ripped jeans that hugged her ass like a second skin. I watched from the hallway as she turned, a sly grin splitting her face.

“He’s mowing the lawn,” she whispered, nodding toward the window. Our new neighbor, a thick-necked guy with calloused hands, was glancing our way. She knew what she was doing.

Silently, Lena hoisted her top over her head. Her big, round tits bounced free, the nipples hard as pebbles from the chill air—and the thrill. She pressed them against the cold glass, leaving a smear of moisture. The neighbor stopped mowing. His mouth hung open.

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” I heard myself say, my voice husky.

She turned, her back to the window, her body so that she bent over the edge of our old oak table. She wiggled her ass, the denim tightening across the crack. I saw her slide her own hand down, unbuttoning her fly, peeling the wet denim off her hips. She wasn't wearing panties.

Her pussy was a dark, thatched mess of hair between her muscled thighs. It glistened in the light. She reached back and two of her fingers disappeared inside the slippery slit. The wet sound echoed in the quiet.

“I want him to see,” she moaned. “I want him to watch you take me.”

I didn’t need a second invitation. I’d been hard since she’d touched the glass. My own dick was a rod of iron. I