Mark's sneaker touched the mat and the door flew open like a trap.
Dana filled the frame, naked, flushed, hair stuck to her cheek with someone else's sweat. "Strip, cuck. Right here. Neighbors get the matinee."
The porch light was a cheap LED flood that turned everything surgical white. Somewhere down the block a sprinkler hissed. Mark's fingers fumbled the hoodie zipper; the teeth snagged twice before the whole thing slid off his shoulders and puddled at his feet. Cold air hit the wet streaks on his stomach. Dana's eyes tracked every inch like a bored queen.
"Faster. I've got a pussy full of cum getting cold."
Jeans next. He toed off his shoes, shoved denim and boxers down in one clumsy push. His cock (half-hard, shining) bobbed in the open air. Dana snorted. "Christ, it's smaller than the cage I brought."
Mark's wedding ring caught on his knuckle. He twisted, skin burning. Dana snatched his wrist, yanked the band free, and dropped it into the hollow between her tits. "Collateral," she said, and the metal vanished.
Behind her, the living room glowed. Sarah was exactly where the FaceTime had left her: knees on the couch, ass up, Marcus's load sliding in slow motion down the inside of one thigh. She looked over her shoulder, pupils blown, and smiled like he was the pizza guy.
The Ring camera blinked red above the door. Dana tapped her phone. "Live on the Ridgewood Moms app. Caption: 'Honey's home early!' Smile, Mark."
A notification pinged from Mrs. Henderson's porch—ding, ding, ding. Thumbs-up emojis flooded the screen Dana held up. "Wave to Karen. She's baking brownies for the PTA again."
Mark's arms hung useless. Dana stepped close enough that her nipples brushed his chest. She smelled like sex and the peach gum Sarah chewed in the carpool line. "Hands and knees. Crawl."
The welcome mat scraped his palms. Fibers stuck to the cum on his hoodie sleeve. Dana walked backward, filming vertical, leading him over the threshold like a dog on an invisible leash. The door swung shut. The deadbolt clicked—once, deliberate.
Inside, the air was thick, humid, lived-in. Bass from a Bluetooth speaker throbbed low. Sarah's lemon dress lay in a heap by the coffee table, one strap torn. Marcus lounged in Mark's recliner, feet propped on the ottoman, cock heavy against his thigh, still wet. He didn't bother looking up.
Dana stopped in the center of the rug. "Present."
Mark knelt upright, knees on the same spot where Sarah had dripped ten minutes ago. The fibers were damp. Dana circled, phone steady. "Tell the camera your full name and why you're naked."
His voice cracked. "Mark Edward Thompson. Because… because my wife needed more than I can give."
Sarah laughed, soft. "Louder, honey. The Wi-Fi's spotty."
Marcus finally glanced over. "Kid's got manners. That's cute."
Dana crouched, eye-level with Mark's cock. She flicked the head—sharp, stinging. "Hands behind your head. Elbows out. Let the moms see the merchandise."
Mark obeyed. His armpits prickled with sweat. The Ring feed counter ticked: 11 viewers… 14… 19. Someone typed: Is that the Thompsons?? Another: Zoom in on the wet spot lol.
Dana stood. "Sarah, show him what he missed."
Sarah slid off the couch, thighs trembling. She walked the three steps to Mark, turned, and planted her feet wide. Marcus's cum had cooled to a glossy trail; a fresh bead formed and dropped, splat, onto the rug between Mark's knees. Sarah reached back, spread herself. The camera caught everything: swollen lips, the slow pulse of her hole still trying to close.
"Kiss it better," Dana said.
Mark leaned in. The first touch of his tongue was salt and copper and something darker. Sarah sighed, pushed back, smeared him chin to nose. Dana narrated like a nature documentary: "Look at that form. Ten years of marriage and he's finally found his calling."
Marcus rose, lazy. His shadow fell over them. "Enough appetizer." He hooked Sarah by the waist, spun her, bent her over the arm of the couch. One thumb parted her; the head of his cock nudged, slipped, found home. Sarah's moan rattled the picture frames.
Dana grabbed Mark's hair, yanked his face up. "Eyes front. Count the strokes. Out loud. Miss one and we restart."
Marcus drew back—glistening—then slammed forward. "One," Mark rasped.
Sarah's knuckles went white on the cushion. "Two… three…"
At seven the front door camera dinged again—motion alert. Dana glanced at her phone, grinned. "Looks like Karen brought those brownies after all."
The doorbell rang. Once. Twice.
Marcus didn't slow. Sarah's voice cracked on a laugh that turned into a scream as he bottomed out. Dana wiped Mark's chin with two fingers, sucked them clean, and sauntered to the door. She cracked it six inches, porch light spilling across her bare hip.
"Karen! Perfect timing. Come in, come in. Shoes off, rug's a mess."
Mark's count stuttered. "Eight… nine…"
Karen's silhouette hesitated, plate trembling. Dana stepped aside. The door swung wider.
Mark's "ten" came out a whisper as Mrs. Henderson's wide eyes met his—naked, on his knees, face shining with another man's spend—while Marcus buried himself to the root and held.
Dana's voice floated back, sweet as lemonade. "Mark, say hi to the HOA president. She's here to talk about the Christmas lights."
The door shut. The deadbolt clicked again.
Marcus's hips rolled slow. Sarah's moan vibrated through the floorboards into Mark's bones.
Dana set the brownie plate on the coffee table, plucked one, and took a bite. Chocolate smeared her lower lip.
"Eleven," she prompted, mouth full.
Mark opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Marcus pulled back—slow, deliberate—until only the head remained. "Start over," he said.
The brownie plate slid an inch as Sarah's palms scrabbled for purchase.
Somewhere outside, a car door slammed. Another notification pinged.
Dana licked chocolate from her thumb and smiled at the Ring camera still blinking red in the corner.
"Smile, cuck. You're trending."
And Marcus drove forward again.