Back Door (Tom & Diane #2)

Three months in and Tom and Diane had settled into an adulterous rhythm that neither of them talked about out loud but both understood completely. Three, sometimes four times a week. Tuesday and Thursday afternoons when Tom's wife, Ashley, took the baby to her mom's group or swim lessons. Saturday mornings when Diane's husband, Russell, took the older kids to travel soccer. The occasional bonus afternoon when the stars aligned and a window opened up unannounced. Overall, things were going great. Diane, a 46-year old mother of three, had experienced more orgasms in three months of cheating with Tom, a 32-year old father of a 15 month old boy, than she'd had in the last 8-9 years with Russell. For Tom's part, his balls were being emptied on a regular basis for the first time since his son, Mason, was born. The spouses were none the wiser, despite the families being next door neighbors.

This particular Saturday was supposed to be a quiet one. Tom had texted her around eleven.

Ashley's taking Mason to his swim lesson, then running to the store after. Said she'd be gone about an hour.

Diane had been at his place within five minutes, slipping in through the back door he left unlocked for exactly this purpose.

"An hour's not usually a lot of time for you," she said, already pulling her sweatshirt over her head to expose her big, floppy DD-size tits. "But I've got something in mind today that might speed things along."

"Yeah?" Tom said, already reaching for her. "What's that?"

"You'll see," she said. "Grab some lotion. We don't have time to waste finding out the slow way."

What Tom didn't know yet, what Diane hadn't mentioned in three months of increasingly adventurous encounters, was that her twenties had included a phase, a brief, formative, surprisingly enthusiastic phase, during which anal had been less an occasional indulgence and more a primary interest. It had faded along with most things from that era of her life, mostly because Russell turned out to be the single least interested man in the entire tri-county area when it came to that particular activity. He'd made a face the one time she'd brought it up early in their marriage, said something about it being unsanitary and how the possibility of getting shit on his dick was terrifying. That had been the end of the conversation permanently. She'd let the whole subject quietly retire. But she still thought about it from time to time. In the shower, the only place she could escape the prying eyes of her three children, she'd revisit memories of strange men shoving their cocks in her ass during spring break her junior year of college. Or that time after the Nine Inch Nails concert when she told her date before they left for the show that she "really liked surprise anal" and he obliged her by bending her over the toilet, spitting in his hand, and taking her ass. Recently, the memories brought her to squat on her shampoo bottle in the shower while fantasizing about Tom's incredibly thick cock gaping her so wide, her hand clamping over her mouth as the bottle stretched her wide.

With Tom, she was a new woman. And one day earlier in the week she'd snuck away to the nearest sex shop in between meetings and picked out a buttplug, a bedazzled blue heart. That morning, she'd placed it in her hole, the once familiar rush overtaking her as it slid in.

She brought it up properly, mouth against his ear, while he was lightly sucking her nipple and fingering her clit while standing against the hallway wall.

"I want you in my ass today," she said. "And I want it now, because we don't have an hour to waste being careful about it."

Tom pulled back slightly, surprised. "Yeah?"

"I used to love it," she said. "Before. It's been a long time."

"How long is a long time?"

"Twenty years, give or take. but trust me, I remember exactly how to make this work. I even have a plug in."

He grinned, something delighted and slightly disbelieving crossing his face.

"Show me," he demanded before grabbing the bottle off the dresser as he walked her back to the bed.

She disrobed and bent over dramatically right in front him, revealing her shiny new toy. Something about the sparkling blue color in the middle of her milky white ass broke something in Tom. For months he'd been staring at her perfect asshole as he fucked her from behind. He didn't think there was a better image. He'd even pulled out and painted it with his load a couple of times. But the sight of this made him reconsider what was truly sexy about her back door.

"I actually have lube... I don't always fit in Ashley that easily," he said, his voice trailing off.

"For what it's worth," he said, "it's been a while for me too. Most girls take one look at this thing and immediately take anal off the table entirely."

"Then I guess we're both rediscovering something today," she said.

He laid her on her stomach across the foot of the bed and knelt behind her, taking a moment to do something neither of them had time for but that he clearly wasn't willing to skip, spreading her cheeks before slowly removing the shiny metal plug, spitting on her lightly gaped hole, and pressing his mouth against her. He worked her open with his tongue for a minute before reaching for the lube.

"Oh," she gasped as his spit splattered her asshole, surprised by the sudden attention. "Oh, okay, we definitely have time for that."

"Always time for that," he said, spreading her big asscheeks and working her open further, listening to her breathing change before he finally sat back and reached for the bottle of KY.

He slicked himself and Diane generously, and she took over before he'd even finished, straddling him backward and reaching behind herself to guide him in.

"I've got this part," she said. "Just hold still a second."

She sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion, taking more of him faster than he'd expected, a long moan escaping her that had nothing tentative in it at all.

"Good-fucking-god," she moaned as his thick cock stretched out her back door. "Your cock is so fat. It feels like there's a redwood tree in my guts."

"Jesus," Tom breathed, hands flying to her hips more to steady himself than her. "You weren't kidding. Anal Queen coming out of retirement..."

"Told you," she said, already rolling her hips, finding the angle that worked within seconds. "I was made for this."

She rode him like she had something to prove, and within a minute it was clear she did not, in fact, need any easing in at all. She bounced with full intention, taking him to the base on every downward stroke, her hands braced on his thighs, moaning loudly with each descent as his balls slapped her soaking wet pussy, the sound climbing in volume as she found her rhythm.

"Oh fuck," she moaned, not bothering to keep her voice down at all. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes--"

"You need to be quieter," Tom said, half laughing, half genuinely concerned, glancing toward the window.

"Can't," she gasped, not slowing down for a second. "Feels too fucking gooooood."

She kept going, loud and unapologetic, working herself into a rhythm that had Tom gripping the sheets within minutes, her moans filling the room without any real attempt at restraint.

"Slow down," he gasped, half laughing. Having been a long time since he'd experienced what being inside someone's ass felt like, he'd forgotten how pleasurably constricting it was. "You're so fucking tight you're going to finish me in ninety seconds at this rate."

"That's sort of the point," she said, not slowing down even slightly. "We don't have an hour, remember?"

He reached around and found her clit with two fingers, working it in time with her movement. With his other hand he reached upward to squeeze her fat toy and pinch her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. She cried out, her rhythm faltering for just a second before she found it again, harder.

"Don't stop that," she gasped. "Don't fucking stop that."

He didn't. The three sensations together built fast, faster than either of them expected, and within a minute she was shaking, her whole body tightening around him in a way that was different from anything they'd done before, deeper, more total.

"Oh God," she gasped. "Oh God, I'm -- Tom, I'm actually -- "

She came with a vibrating cry that surprised her as much as him, a full body release that started somewhere she hadn't expected and rolled outward through her entire frame, her head dropping back and her ass tightening like a vise around his member.

"Holy shit," Tom breathed, watching her come apart on top of him, his hand still cupping her breast tightly. "Holy shit, Diane."

"Don't stop," she managed, still shaking. "Finish. Now. We don't have time--"

That was all the permission he needed. He drove up into her hard from below, chasing his own finish with the same urgency she'd set from the start. It took less than 15 seconds before he went rigid beneath her, cumming deep inside her ass with a groan he had to bite back to keep from being too loud.

They were still catching their breath, Diane still seated on top of him facing away, slumped back slightly against his chest, when they heard the front door.

Both of them froze completely.

"Tom?" Ashley's voice, from the entryway. "I forgot my wallet..."

Diane instinctively grabbed her cheeks and held them apart so Tom could quickly remove himself from her, revealing a bright red gaping asshole with a dot of creamy white cum peeking out. For one genuinely terrifying half second neither of them moved.

"Bathroom," he hissed, grabbing her clothes off the floor and shoving them into her arms. "Go, go, go--"

Diane bolted for the connected bathroom and pushed the door mostly shut, heart slamming, clothes clutched against her bare chest, acutely aware that there had been no time whatsoever for any kind of proper cleanup on her end either. She clenched hard and prayed, pressed against the wall a few feet from where Tom was frantically scrubbing himself at the sink, both of them holding their breath.

He grabbed the messed sheet off the bed and balled it into the laundry hamper in one motion before snatching the spare throw blanket off the bench at the foot of the bed and tossing it over the bed in a single smoothing motion that somehow, miraculously, looked almost natural.

"In here!" he called, voice cracking slightly on the second word. He cleared his throat. "In here, just grabbing a shirt."

"My wallet's on the kitchen counter, I think, can you check--" Ashley's voice was getting closer, footsteps on the stairs now.

Tom met his own eyes in the dresser mirror for half a second, looking like a man who had genuinely never been more terrified in his life, and then composed himself and stepped out into the hallway to intercept her before she reached the bedroom door.

"I'll find it," he said, already moving past her toward the stairs, voice almost normal. "How was swim?"

"Exhausting. He cried through half of it and then wouldn't get out of the water for the other half. I smell like chlorine and I need a shower before we even think about the grocery store." She rubbed her temple. "Diaper bag's a disaster too, by the way, if you're going by the bedroom."

"Already on it," he said. "Go shower, I've got it handled."

It was a flimsy excuse and they both knew it, but Ashley, exhausted from the swim lesson on top of months of new-parent fatigue, simply nodded and headed for the bathroom down the hall instead, already pulling her chlorine-damp shirt over her head as she walked.

Tom stood frozen in the hallway until he heard the shower turn on.

Then he went back into the bedroom, opened the door to find Diane standing in the bathroom in just her underwear, eyes wide, silently mouthing oh my god at him, legs pressed together in a way that had nothing to do with modesty.

"She's in the shower," he whispered. "We've got maybe ten minutes."

"I need an actual bathroom," Diane whispered back, a note of real urgency creeping into it now that the immediate danger had passed. "Like, now, not the heroic-cleanup kind, the regular kind."

"Go, go, I've got this part," he said, already stripping the throw blanket back off, pulling the actual sheets out of the hamper, balling them up properly this time and stuffing the whole bundle deep into the bottom of the hamper under a heavy layer of towels and Mason's bath things, grabbing a fresh set from the closet and remaking the bed with the efficient speed of a man who had clearly never moved that fast doing housework in his life.

She didn't have time to use his bathroom properly with Ashley one wall away, so she got dressed as fast as her current condition allowed, walking gingerly, every step a small negotiation she hadn't had to make in twenty years.

"That," she whispered, "was the closest call of my entire life. In several ways."

"I genuinely thought I was going to have a heart attack," he whispered back, smoothing the new comforter into place. "I have never made a bed that fast."

"You should put that on your resume."

"Go, go, the shower's not going to last forever."

She slipped out through the back door, jacket pulled tight despite the warm afternoon, walking the short distance back to her own house with an exaggerated, careful gait, clenched the entire way like a woman trying very hard not to think about anything at all, practically sprinting for her own bathroom the second she got the front door shut behind her.

She made it through her own front door, dropped her keys on the entry table without looking, and beelined straight for the downstairs bathroom, locking the door behind her out of sheer reflex even though the house was empty.

What followed was several minutes of profound, uncomplicated relief. It was the kind that came with its own kind of dignity-adjacent gratitude, the simple overwhelming joy of finally, finally not having to hold anything together anymore. She sat there afterward for a moment longer than necessary, forehead in her hands, laughing quietly to herself at the sheer specific absurdity of her current life.

She flushed, washed her hands twice, and caught her own reflection in the mirror. Her flushed cheeks and mussed hair complimented the particular glow of a woman who had just had the best assgasm of her life immediately followed by the most stressful ten minutes of her week.

"Forty-six years old, married seventeen years," she said to her own reflection, half laughing, "sprinting home mid-affair because the neighbor just fucked me deep in the ass and nearly got us both caught doing it."

"Worth it," she added, and meant it completely.

Tom texted her twenty minutes later, once Ashley had finished her shower, grabbed her wallet, and headed back out the door for real this time.

We are never doing that again in my house in the middle of the day.

Diane's response came fast.

Worth it though. Even the waddle home.

A pause. Then Tom's reply:

Completely worth it. I have never come like that in my life. Still, your place next time.

Deal, she typed back. And Tom?

Yeah?

I meant what I said. Twenty years was way too long.

The three dots appeared immediately.

Then I guess we have some catching up to do.