The Peeper

Tiffany and Alice are barely dressed when the bathroom door creaks. They giggle, pulling straps here, snapping lace there. The whole time her next-door freak Brad is outside with his eye to the cracked window, fist working his fat dick slow. Every time Alice’s tongue flicks over a pink nipple, the muscles in his forearm knot. He doesn’t even know how he got upstairs, just that the carpet swallows his steps and he’s suddenly framed in the bedroom door, watching Alice suck on Tiffany’s perky tit like it’s candy. A low, hungry moan slips out of him. Too late to pull it back. The girls spin, wide smiles spreading. They drop to their knees together. Two wet tongues drag up his throbbing cock from either side, licking, nibbling, trading spit. Then they crawl onto the bed. Brad doesn’t wait for an invitation; he sinks into Tiffany first—hard, deep—his balls smacking against her clit while Alice rubs herself inches from his face. He pulls out, shifts left, and hammers into Alice just as rough, her slick walls squeezing like a fist. Bodies twist and lock, legs spread, tits bounce. Every time he’s close, they yank him free, laughing, making him switch again and again. Finally they kneel shoulder to shoulder on the mattress, mouths open, tongues out. Brad pumps himself twice, groans like he’s dying, and shoots thick ropes of white across both faces, the load catching on their lips and sliding down eager throats.