How Bad do I Need to Borrow It?

Ethan pulled his truck off the side of the street, parking it at the edge of Wes's driveway. He inspected the fresh white siding of the house, a new construction home still needing some finishing touches. No vehicles in the driveway. No sign of anyone, anywhere.

Ethan stared out his windshield. The log splitter sat visible behind the garage. He thought he could probably pull the machine by hand over to his truck without much effort. But something else peaked his interest.

He remembers Wes's voice the other day, with pride, saying, "Check the place out when you're there, it turned out nice."

Ethan had nodded along, drinking a beer, pretending like he wasn't really that interested in his friend's new place. But now that he was on site, he felt very intrigued.

He swung out the door and jumped out of the truck. The property line dissolved into weeds and mulberry trees. The hickory and maple still young and were getting overpowered by ratty shrubs. Wes had cleared a couple trees, the stumps ground flush and mulched over. He had been getting good use out of his log splitter. Ethan found himself walking the perimeter, hands in his jean pockets, pretending like he wasn't snooping around.

He looked through the sliding glass door, cupping his hands against the reflection. Stainless appliances. A brand new sectional couch. The living room opened into vaulted ceiling where Ethan could imagine his own voice echoing. It seemed too fancy, too elegant for this country boy friend he'd known for so long.

Inside, movement shifted past the hallway, a figure, passing through startled him. Ethan's hand dropped from the doorframe like he'd touched something hot. He stepped back, almost tripping off the concrete porch.

A sound followed. Then footsteps. A figure. Music, maybe. Or a voice humming. His throat tightened. The neighborhood was completely silent, no mowers, no dogs, just the distant semi trucks on the highway and his own heartbeat suddenly pounding in his chest. Wes had said nothing about anyone being home.

He said, specifically, "Nobody will be around, just check it out."

Ethan stepped another few paces. He should leave. The log splitter could wait. But he didn't turn toward the truck. Instead we walked sideways, along the side of the house. The side window sat lower than the sliding door, its blind half-raised, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was there, peeking in.

Lights turned on in the hallway, visible through the narrow gap of the blind. Then she stepped into the doorway, towel wrapped and twisted above her breasts, dark, wet hair stuck to her shoulders. He knew immediately. Jane. Wes never said anything about being moved in, let alone that they were living there. Now water droplets ran down her neck, caught the light from the sun window. Ethan was froze.

She turned, reaching for something on the counter, and the towel slipped down. Ethan jerked backward so fast his shoulder bumped the downspout and sent it rattling against the siding. It was a loud clatter that cut spoiled the afternoon stillness. Inside, she turned her head turned toward the window. Then quickly lost interest and turned back to the counter.

She grabbed a book and made her way to the couch. The book, a thick paperback, opened in her lap. Ethan got closer to the glass, being careful to not fog the window. She hadn't pulled the towel down. Hadn't crossed her legs. The position she'd chosen, knees bent and separated, feet tucked in by her buttcheeks, spread open, left herself completely open to the window and to him.

He couldn't believe what he saw.

The auburn tinted bush was unmistakable even from outside, a rich warm color he'd never have guessed. It caught the afternoon sun through the blinds. Her vagina was covered under a full bush. Not trimmed, not shaped, not anything the magazines or the few women he'd been with before. Full and thick, a true womanhood that gave his stomach butterflies.

He should look away. But that idea faded fast.

Jane turned a page, consumed by the book, her wet hair dripping occasional dark spots onto the towel's pale blue fabric. Her legs moved as she shifted, and the view altered slightly, the light finding pale skin that's not normally exposed.

She had one hand holding her book and the other free. Her free hand moved with a steady rhythm, parting the curly hair, tracing her pussy lips without urgency. The motion was slow, almost meditative, and her breathing stayed even, undisturbed by what her hand was doing. When her fingertip found the hood of her clitoris she circled it once, twice, then let her hand rest against her inner thigh before the page needed turning.

Ethan watched, every goosebump on his body standing up. The towel had slipped further, showing the her belly, and he saw the way her hips made a small adjustments against the couch cushion, trying to get more comfortable. Her expression never changed. She was focused. She turned a page and the motion of her fingers resumed, lazily stroking through the hair, then dipping between the furry lips before resting on her stomach, just below her belly button.

Suddenly for some unexplained reason, Jane set her book down and stood up. The towel fell her feet, and Jane stepped free of it, her body catching the light from the sun shining in. Ethan stopped breathing. She was smaller than he'd imagined, compact and finely shaped, her shoulders narrow. The teardrop shape of her small breasts hung delicate and slightly low, the dark areolas against her pale skin, nipples erect in the house's conditioned air. She made no move to cover them, no fold of her arms. Her hands down at her sides.

But it was the bush that consumed him, that dense triangle of curls now fully revealed. It covered her mound in a wild, but elegant arrangement. The hair completely covered her labia in curly bunches, then it climbed toward her butt cheeks in a thinner trail. Ethan had seen women bare, waxed and trimmed. This was none of those things.

Jane scratched her stomach, the motion lifting one small breast slightly, then let her hand drop back to side. Her bush moved when she shifted her weight, auburn curls catching the light. Between the thick forest he could see the pink seam of her lips, a tight slit, still wet. She had no idea someone was watching.

Blood filled Ethan's penis, his cock thickening and lifting against his jeans. He pressed his hand against the front of his pants, the pressure only making him more aroused.

Jane crossed the room, her hips swinging in a rhythm. The shapely, round buttocks shifted with each step, the skin more pale than the rest of her, as if sunlight had never touched her. The dense, dark bush was a shadowed mass that moved with her thighs.

At the refrigerator, she pulled the door open. She reached for a bottle on the lower shelf, bending at the waist.

Her butt cheeks parted.

Ethan's hand pushed harder on his cock. The seam of her labia pushed visibly backward between her spread cheeks, where it parted the hair, exposed now from behind in a way that seemed way too intimate. The hair did not stop at her pussy. A thinner trail of hair continued tracing the crease toward the tight knot of her asshole. He could see it, the slightly darker skin there and the hairs that surrounded it.

The refrigerator door swung shut with a thud. Jane straightened, bottled water in hand, and turned.

Ethan froze.

Her breasts swung slightly with the motion, making a slight jiggle, nipples still hard from the cool air escaping the fridge. The curve of her belly, the shadowed bush between her thighs, shape of her hips, all showing. It looked like Jane was looking directly at him but she wasn't.

His erection felt firm against his zipper, screaming for attention.

Something sank in his chest, a sudden panic. The water spilled sliding down Jane's chest and ribs, the way her weight shifted as the cool water surprised her and also Ethan as she jumped. All of it processed as threat, as exposure, as the moment before everything he just saw was now in jeopardy.

Ethan pressed his back against the vinyl siding, the rough texture catching his shirt. His cock still throbbed, but his hands shook for different reasons. From here he could see the driveway, his truck waiting where he'd parked it. He darted around the corner and went to his truck, abandoning the log splitter. He could get it later.

The started with a loud growl. Ethan gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, and reversed without looking. The truck bounced over the first pothole and his erection shifted against the denim. He let one hand drop to adjust himself, palm pressing the rigid length through his jeans, and the friction creating pleasure. Jane's body materialized behind his eyelids. The spill of water tracing her ribs, her surprised gasp, the way her belly tensed up for one brief moment before she'd reached for a dish towel.

Beautiful. The word felt insufficient. He'd known Jane for years. She was Wes's wife at parties, smiling over a seltzer can, her figure always concealed beneath sundresses or jeans. The living woman was so much better than the one he had been imagining.

His driveway appeared without memory of the miles he'd just driven. Ethan killed the engine and sat in sudden silence. He fumbled the keys from the ignition. Each step to the door increased his arousal. Inside, he didn't reach for the light switch. His hand was already working his belt free, buckle clattering, zipper opening with a rasp that seemed to echo through the empty house. He gripped the sink's edge with one hand while the other hand finally gripped around his penis.

His fist moved with steady rhythm, wrist twisting over the swollen head on each upstroke. The bathroom mirror had fogged slightly from his exhale. He closed his eyes to dismiss that distraction. He began picture how Jane would fuck him.

He would lay on his back and Jane would kick her leg over and straddle him. Her knees would surround his hips, the insides of her thighs spreading to accommodate his torso. He imagined the dark bush he'd seen, how the swollen head of his cock rub against her wet, furry pussy lips. Jane's pussy would take his thick cock in, Ethan would be in awe watching it disappear into her thick forest. She would let out a quiet moan as she took his entire cock in. Completely filling her.

In his mind her breast swayed above him as she found her rhythm, gravity drawing them toward his mouth. He would catch one, suck hard, and feel her grind down in response. The motion driving him deeper until his cock bottomed out against her cervix as her moans got louder.

Ethan's fist tightened, pumping his cock hard as he chased the image of her on top of him.

Her fingers drifted downward, combing through that thick bush to find the sensitive clitoris that was needing attention. He watched her part herself with two fingers, until her clit emerged and begged for attention. She began to rub in circles, her palm pressed against her mound while her hips rolled to take him deeper inside.

Her head dropped back, dark hair hanging freely, and her free hand reached at her own breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to arch her spine. The rhythm of her hips would speed up, humping his cock as her fingers continued their furious dance.

His grip found her hips, hands squeezing firmly as he stilled her grinding rhythm. She made a sound that expressed protest, but he was already lifting, guiding her body off his body with a wet pop as his cock falls out of her pussy. Her knees trembled as he moved her.

The mattress creaked her as he flipped her doggystyle, one smooth motion that left face pressed against cool pillow, breasts flattened, spine curving to present the only view he wanted now. Her brunette hair spread across the pillow, and she turned her face to gasp against fabric that smelled of them both, of sweat and sex.

His palms spread her thighs wider, thumbs tracing the crease of her rear meeting her lower back, then pulling apart her cheeks. There it was, the tight pucker of her asshole, dark hair framing it like some forbidden secret. Below, her pussy gaped slightly from his cock, lips swollen and parted, glazed with the thick white cream of her ovulation that he'd felt coating his shaft. The sight almost paralyzed him.

She felt his gaze like physical weight, She arched her back more and spread her thighs, hoping to show him as much as she could. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, anticipating.

He got into position, and she felt the throbbing head of his cock drag through her lips, gathering that creamy slick, spreading it back toward the tight asshole he currently worshipped with his stare. Then he angled lower, found her opening still tender and soft from recent use, and pressed forward in one smooth slide that filled her completely, his hips pressed against her ass.

Jane's body absorbs his first thrust like a held breath releasing, her body rocking forward with the momentum. He found his rhythm, drawing back until only the tip of his cock remained grasped by her pussy, then sinking totally in with a wet slap of flesh, amplified by the quiet room. Again, slower still, watching the way her back arched in response, the delicate line of her spine visible beneath her skin as she pushed back to meet him halfway.

His grip tightened on her ass cheeks, fingers pressing soft enough to not hurt her but, firm enough to steer her exactly where he needed. His thumbs rode the crack where rounded cheeks met her asshole, so close that each thrust shifted their position closer. He felt the texture there, coarse dark ass hair against his thumbs, and moving inward till they were pressing against her asshole.

Each withdrawal and each return drove his heavy testicles swinging forward, the tight, firm sack swinging up to strike her exposed clitoris with every stroke. The slapping sound was unmistakable, as her progressively louder moans coming from her mouth.

Jane's voice cracked upward, tearing through the imaginary quiet of his house, "I'm cumming, I'm fucking cumming, harder, faster, don't stop."

Her pussy seized around him with a tight, wet grip. Ethan could feel it spread from his cock to the rest of her body. The fantasy Jane's back arched, brunette hair whipping as her body spasmed, and between her spread thighs her pussy gushed, the release flooding down over his cock, soaking her pubic hair, dripping onto the sheets he'd never have to wash because she wasn't actually there.

His hand pumped faster, elbow locked, shoulder frozen. The muscles in his ass clenched tight enough to ache, thighs trembling with tension, every part of him winding toward the release.

The first pulse hit him. Ethan bucked forward, cock pointing into the sink basin, and hot semen coated the white porcelain in thick ropes, spattering his knuckles where they still gripped his cock. He kept stroking through it, milking each rope out, eyes squeezed shut to hold the image of her hairy pussy, round ass, and the thought of pleasuring her. His knees sagged, the sink held him upright as the final pulses weakened to trembling dribbles where they funneled toward the drain.

Ethan ran the sink and watched his semen swirl down the drain. The mirror above the sink showed a man who looked caught rather than relieved. He stood straight, pulling his jeans up with both hands, buttoning the fly.

The log splitter sat in Wes's yard, ready for pick up. Only now Jane would be there too, smiling, her dark hair resting on her shoulders. Ethan would have to make his face into something normal while his mind served up the dirty secrets of her body.

The splitter mattered. He needed stacked wood against his fireplace. His back wouldn't survive another season of the maul. He needed the tool. Ethan hopes Wes will answer the door alone, as he holds the secret deep within, hoping it never comes out.