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Father and son's last moment.
She could hear sounds from the other side. Her neighbor (Julie? Jenny?) was moaning loudly, exhorting Derek to savage her pussy with his tongue.
Turning her head, Emma pressed her ear against the wall and could hear even better. After a few minutes the woman enthusiastically orgasmed. Silence for a few moments, then the woman groaned louder still.
"Oh my God, Derek, it is so big! Please go slowly."
Emma was breathing fast, and with a rush of embarrassment, she realized her panties had become soaked. She felt the overwhelming urge to touch herself.
Masturbation was the only way Emma had ever orgasmed. Sometimes when she was single, she'd resorted to it when she felt her concentration suffering because of the time of the month. The urge was always strongest midway through her cycle, and when she felt it was getting in the way of real work, she'd use her hand to quickly bring herself off. Occasionally, she'd have to do it more than once a month. It wasn't something she actively looked forward to, touching herself intimately was just something that occasionally needed doing, like the laundry or yard work.
When Peter and she had married, he would occasionally use his hand on her, bringing her to delicious cums (as she began to think of them after reading a volume of Victorian erotica) before he stuck his erection into her for several frantic moments of pumping before he came. Lately, Emma had begun to feel it was all very mechanical on his part and not particularly satisfying.
Now she had her head pressed to the wall, listening to the enthusiastic sounds of her two neighbors going at it. From the woman's noises, it was clear she was greatly enjoying what Derek was doing to her. Emma distinctly heard the woman come twice more while Derek made love to her. Amazing. Emma had never felt even the first twinge of an impending cum when Peter and she made love, and even if she had, she knew she couldn't manage one in the short time he'd be inside her. Except for those rare occasions when he'd touch her, she usually had to wait until he'd fallen asleep before she could gain her own relief. Peter was a good man, but not imaginative in bed, according to what she knew of Victorian mores -- or those of her new neighbor, at least.
Almost as if of their own volition, her hands stole down to her sodden panties. Moving very carefully so as not to disturb her husband, she removed them and pulled her feet up towards her, spreading her legs under the sheet.
She was absolutely drenched.
Dipping two fingers of her left hand down low, she gathered up some of the moisture, then slid them slowly up her widening slit. As both fingers drifted deliciously across the hard little nubbin of her clitoris, she stifled a surprised gasp at how far along she already was. With her other hand, Emma spread her labia apart, further exposing her "pleasure button" (another favorite term from her Victorian literary pursuits).
As the lovebirds next door spent the next 90 minutes in more enthusiastic "fucking" (a very naughty word indeed!), Emma masturbated herself to two furious cums, the strongest she'd ever experienced. In order not to wake Peter (how could she ever explain what she was doing?), she bit down hard on her forearm, groaning out her release as quietly as she could. Instinctively, she knew it somehow also dampered the intensity.
That night as she slept heavily, Emma dreamed for the first time about Derek's cock.
Emma had been brought up with a pretty sheltered life. Her parents had been very strict, not allowing her to date until she was nearly 17. Sex was never referred to in the house, and everything she knew about it had been gained from overheard conversations and the odd magazine article. In college, she'd been quietly studious, staying away from the post-secondary lifestyle. She'd dated a few guys, all of whom had expected one thing, and she hadn't found a single one that she'd even liked enough to do more than neck with a bit.
After getting her degree, she'd got a job teaching in a