Bad Walls Make for Good Neighbours

Lacie's throat worked as she loudly swallowed. Putting the glass on the table she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"I'm alright. It wasn't that bad. What did you say was in that?"

"That's a closely-guarded family secret," the brunette winked down at her. "It'll kick in in just a sec. Daddy's cure got me through a lotta mornings when I was fit to kill myself."

"Lord knows I've tried worse cures," Lacie said. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," Roxanne offered her a hand to shake, which my fiancee limply took. "I'm Roxanne. Roxanne Swift. I thought I'd just come over before I went to work and make nice after disturbing you folks last night."

Lacie waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. We didn't know the walls were that thin either." She looked over at the older woman, taking in her outfit. "You're going to work like that?"

"I teach dance, honey. This is business casual where I work." Roxanne leaned closer, peering Lacie's face with a concerned look. "You alright? You're starting to look a little green."

"Yeah, no-" we could all hear her stomach gurgle. "Ohmigod what did you give me?" She bent over double for a moment, and belched loudly. "What was in that? I've got to-"

"Lace? What's going on?" I took a half-step towards my fiancee, but could take no more before she jumped to her feet and dashed past me down the hall towards the bathroom; the door slammed shut. Roxanne slowly stood. "What the hell? What did you give her."

"Family secret, sugar." The older woman began walking towards me. "It'll cure what ails her, promise. Cross my heart." She drew an X over one breast, and I could see a nipple beginning to poke through the fabric of her shirt.

"What are you even doing here?"

"I thought it would be useful to come over and scope out the competition," she kept coming closer and I started taking steps back.

"Competition?"

"After our little talk last night, I realized - here was this adorable little fuckpuppy living right next door, just *ripe* for the taking, and if I didn't get in there first, why, I was only leaving the door open for some other cougar to step in and take what's rightfully mine." I backed right into the wall.

"Jesus are you crazy? There's no competition. Lacie's my fiancee and I love her and nothing is *ever* going to happen between you and me." Disgusting noises began emanating from the bathroom. Could she hear us?

"Are you seriously trying to tell me you didn't think about what I said all night long? That you didn't for a moment wonder what it would be like? To have some older woman take you away from your fiancee and make you sink that big young cock into plush mature pussy?" She was only a few feet away now, her eyes locked with mine like a snake hypnotizing a bird.

Not quite sure what to say to that, I hesitated for a moment, which was all the time she needed to finish crossing the hall and press her body into mine. Her face was inches away as her gaze drilled into my eyes, and my senses were suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of so much warm, firm flesh pushing me up against the wall.

"Fuck, stop this," I insisted in a hiss. "What if Lacie comes out, what if she sees-" I raised a hand to push her away, but I wasn't sure where to put it. Roxanne grabbed my wrist and pulled it down, placing my hand on one firm buttcheek. Reflexively, I flexed my fingers, feeling the muscular flesh yield just a little. Here was an ass that just begged for a smack; I could easily palm each of Lacie's little cheeks, but Roxanne's thick, muscular booty was so much bigger, firmer, rounder.

"What if she sees you playing grabass with your older, hotter neighbor?" Roxanne ground her hips into mine. "I'll tell you what, hon. I'll give you one chance to escape." She grinned and bit her lip. "Kiss me."

"What? I'm not gonna-"

"Kiss me. Just once. Once kiss." Her face inched closer to mine. "Kiss me once and if you don't like it, if you don't want more, I'll leave you alone forever. I'll be the perfect neighbor." I could feel her breath on my lips.

"No! No, I can't, I won't!" I could hear the toilet flush.

"Then I guess your little fiancee is going to find us like this and she'll just have to think whatever she thinks." Roxanne grabbed my free hand, and guided it to the other globe of her ass. Despite myself, I squeezed them both. She took the opportunity to dart in, kissing me hard; I'd only ever kissed Lacie before, and I was shocked to discover how much more *luscious* Roxanne's lips were, when pressed against mine. There was a whole new world of firm softness in her pillow-lipped mouth that I could easily get lost in as slippery gloss bled into my mouth and filled it with the taste of peaches. With a nudge, she easily forced my lips open and suddenly her tongue invaded, flickering across mine and teasing the tip with slippery warm flesh. And as soon as she'd begun, Roxanne stopped, dancing back three steps, leaving my head leaning forward and hands full of the lingering warmth of her ass. Grinning at me, she wiped her mouth.

"Wha-" I began, then the bathroom door opened, and I could feel all the blood drain from my face. Lacie stepped out, looking pale as a ghost and coated in a sheen of sweat.

"How do you feel now, sugar?" Roxanne asked, walking over to take my fiancee by the hand, coming between us.

"Actually, I feel a hell of a lot better." Lacie said in wonderment. "Empty, pretty much, but way better than I did before. I don't know what you did, but thank you!"

"Nothin' to it," Roxanne said with a wink. "Daddy's cure works every time. Anyway, I should go, I've kept you two too long and I've got to get to work."

"Right," Lacie brushed her hair, stringy and unwashed, out of her face. "Where do you work again?"

"Oh I rent time in a little studio downtown; I mostly teach little girls with mommas who didn't become ballerinas, but sometimes jazz and modern dance too. Every now and again I get to put some couples through their paces with ballroom."

"Oh, really?" My fiancee said, wheels turning in her head. "You know, I was thinking of enrolling us in a dance class before the wedding. Derek's got two left feet and..." They walked past me, towards the door, and I stopped paying attention to what was being said, eyes locked instead on the mesmerizing syncopation of Roxanne's hips and ass. At the door, I watched in a daze as the two women hugged and our neighbor took her leave.

"I like her," Lacie said, crossing her arms. "I think she'll be good for us." Roxanne waved from the sidewalk and blew a kiss in our general direction. My mouth tingled.

- - -

We didn't see Roxanne again all weekend. Well, we didn't see her in person, but I could not get our neighbor out of my head, no matter what I did. It was hours before I stopped licking my mouth, for example, trying to find the last traces of peach-flavored lip gloss, stopping only when Lacie asked me what the hell I was doing.

In my defense, it was Lacie who insisted we social media creep on Roxanne's dance studio.

"Maybe she's not any good; who knows?" She said, and I found myself agreeing with her as she started Googling. The studio itself was easy enough to find - a pretty bland Wordpress template with links to a Facebook page, class schedules and galleries from various events - and the reviews seemed pretty positive, if a little focused on kids' classes.

After scrolling down through a couple of galleries full of little girls in Swan Lake costumes, I said "jeez, does she even teach adults?"

"She said she did," Lacie replied as the mouse wheel clicked along. "There's some teenagers doing modern stuff, hip-hop."

"What about here?" I pointed. "'Instructor Profiles?'"

The studio played host to a dozen or more instructors, and the page listed off their particular histories, what dance schools they attended, styles of dance they were proficient in, classes they led, etc. etc.

"Aha!" Lacie crowed. "See? She is legit." There at the bottom of the list was Roxanne's headshot. "Royal Dance Academy, yadda yadda, played at blah blah blah, teaches modern dance, jazz, tap, ballet and adult ballroom." Each class name had a link to a calendar; below that was another link to Roxanne's Instagram. My fiancee handed the laptop over, and stood up. "You have a look around," she said. "I'll go start dinner. Find us a good class."

I opened up the calendar in a new tab, and browsed around a bit. There were two or three adult classes, one night a week. Monday looked pretty promising, late enough for us to get back from work not too late that we'd be wiped out. Glancing momentarily at the living room entrance, I tabbed back over and opened up Roxanne's instagram account.

The first couple of rows were pretty dull stuff - there'd been a recital lately I guess - and so her feed was dominated by pics of bouquets and blurry videos of dancers on stage and a full theatre. At the bottom, hovering just above the "load more" button was an image of a few shopping bags on a bed; I recognized some of the brands, Victoria's Secret and Lululemon stood out, and a few I didn't - like "Hard Tail" - or simply generic shopping bags. With a naughty little thrill, I clicked it.

*one of the perks of the job,* read the caption, *is that *my* 'business casual' is everybody else's 'sloppy saturday' #fashionhaul #victoriasecret #vsx #hardtailforever #lovemylulus.*

Shrugging, I clicked back. I don't know if I hit something by accident or the site was set to auto-load if you scrolled down far enough, or what, but once I was back in Roxanne's instagram feed other pics began to pop up.

What followed was obviously a series of pics from her shopping trip, taken from inside a wide spectrum of changerooms. Again, at first, they were pretty staid pics; she'd tried on a number of full-length skirts and maxi-dresses at Hard Tail - each pic was tagged #hardtailforever - but the flowing jersey utterly failed to conceal the sinuous curves of Roxanne's fit, mature body. A below-the-knee shirred skirt made her hips and thighs look as though they'd been dipped in black spandex. The next pic showed off the prodigious, hard globes of her ass, the fabric stretched tight across it. The hems of the skirts gradually began to rise, revealing yards of taut, tawny skin and lean, muscled legs until at last a shot that seemed to be just legs, barring the narrow blue band of spandex that across her hips. The waistband itself arced over her hipbones, revealing a tantalizing darkness. Beyond that - legs, nothing but the most spectacular legs I'd ever seen, and Roxanne's squatty little toes at the end of them, nails painted peachy-pink.

I licked my lips, and glanced out the doorway, cock surging up in my pants.

"How's it going out there, Lace?" I called out.

"Good," she said. "You want noodles or rice?"

"R-rice," I replied; that would tack on at least an extra fifteen minutes.

*luv luv luv my booty shorts!* the caption read, *tho maybe a little 2 much booty for work. don't wanna distract all the dads. home use only I guess lol.*

Next came a whirlwind trip through lululemon, where each pair of yoga leggings seemed tighter than the last, and they all needed a shot from the front and the back. Stunned, I goggled my way through an endless parade of ass-shots of our next door neighbour. Her muscular buttocks dominated each picture, especially when she stood on her tiptoes to accentuate it.

*who needs squats when you got dance? Thx, royal academy. #glutes #dancebooty*

One photo was simply a shot of the vast black globes of her buttocks, poured into glove-fitted leggings. The omega logo at the top of her tailbone winked in the camera's flash.

*nope not see thru!*

By now I had gone from occasionally adjusting my hard-on to actively (and sneakily) squeezing it in my lap, remembering the way Roxanne's body had felt pressed against mine, the way her ass filled up my hands like Lacie's had never done, firm and springy and muscular and aching to be grabbed and-

"Are you alright in here?" Lacie asked from the doorway. "I've been calling you for five minutes. Dinner's ready."

In a panic, I glanced down. The next trip appeared to involve Victoria's Secret and a *lot* of swimwear, in which bikinis featured heavily. Hastily making note of her username (@r0xxyrawx), I closed the tab and closed the laptop.

"Yeah, no worries." I said, standing and hoping my deflating hardon wasn't too obvious. "I'm coming."

"Good." We walked into the kitchen, where dinner sat steaming. "Did you find us a class?"

"Monday okay?"

"Great! I'll call and set it up."

"Great," I repeated, feeling the shame welling up inside me. It wouldn't be that bad, right?

It wasn't as if anything was going to happen.

- - -

"I can't believe she's *late*." Lacie moaned as we sat around on a hard wooden bench.

"Only five minutes," I said, checking my watch. We scanned the empty dance studio, all hardwood and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A ballet barre spanned one wall. A stereo stood in one corner but otherwise there was nothing else in the room. We were both wearing our after-work casual kit - sweats and sneakers - which had sucked up a great deal of whatever energy we'd had that day.

Sunday night Roxanne had invited over another "suitor" and consequently nobody in the house had gotten much sleep. Lacie had gotten more than I, mostly because she'd jammed her head under the pillows to muffle our neighbour's wet moans; meanwhile, I surreptitiously slid my phone out and spent the intervening time scrolling through Roxanne's instagram, subtly grinding my cock into the mattress and trying not to alert my fiancee as to what I was doing. Each time I neared orgasm, guilt would sweep over me, and I'd back off and turn off the phone and swear not to do it again; five minutes later, my hand would creep back over to the smartphone and flick it on again, and the cycle would begin anew.

It was deep, deep into the morning before I managed to get to sleep.

The upshot was we were both exhausted and a bit stroppy. Lacie crossed her arms and harrumphed. "I don't care. If she's not here in five minutes, we're out of here. I can't believe we paid two hund-"

"Hello, lovelies!" Roxanne bound into the room. "I didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?" She was wearing a long grey hoodie draped over the twin mounds of her breasts, a pair of black leggings with VSX printed down one long, muscular thigh in pink block letters, and a pair of flipflops. A gym bag was slung over one shoulder.

"Long enough," Lacie muttered. "Can we start now?"

Our neighbour gave us the once-over and her plush lips split in a grin. "Well don't you guys look, um, comfy. I'm going to get ready real quick, then we can start, 'kay?" She snapped her hair back into a tight ponytail, and reached down to lift up the hem of her hoodie. She yanked her top off, revealing yards of taut, muscular abdomen the likes of which I'd certainly never seen in person. A pink gem twinkled in her bellybutton. A light white t-shirt quickly fell down over it, skimming just above the waistband of her leggings. In the mirror behind her, I could see an enormous keyhole opening from the nape of her neck to her tailbone, revealing the thick band of her sports bra.

"Sneakers, eh?" Roxanne said, unzipping her gym bag and pulling out a pair of mirror-black heels at least four inches in height. She slid out of her flipflops and stepped into them.

"What's wrong with sneakers?" Lacie asked. "I wear heels all day at work and I really don't want to-"

"Are you getting married in sneakers, hon? Are you gonna have your first dance in sneakers?"

"Well," Lacie stumbled. "I mean, I've got heels for the ceremony but-"

"Oh sweetie, nothing looks as dowdy as a bride in sneakers." Roxanne straightened up and tugged at the waistband of her leggings, briefly drawing them into the deep crevasse of her ass. In her heels, our neighbour was a mature vision, the muscles in her legs and behind standing out and clearly visible in the 360 degrees' worth of mirrors that bounded the walls. "You want to look your most fuckable on your wedding night, don't you?"

"Uh-" Lacie stumbled over her words, not really sure what to say.

"Next time, bring heels. You're not practicing in *those*." She gestured at Lacie's dingy kicks.

"Ok sure, whatever." My fiancee jammed her hands in the pockets of her sweats and slumped over, too tired to argue.

"Good girl," Roxanne said, tapping her toe on the floor. Then she clapped her hands. "Now get up, lovelies! I want to see what you guys can do."

Lacie shot me a look and we stood up, walking to the middle of the floor while our neighbour *tik-toked* over to the stereo in the corner. She queued up a classical waltz while my fiancee and I clasped each other. I gave her a hopeful smile.

"Awww," Roxanne said. "I do so love seeing such attractive young people so deeply in love. Now keep it real simple guys, just a box step okay?"

We stepped in unison. Or tried to. Over and over again. Neither one of us was particularly good at keeping the beat, and so we'd step at different times, pick different directions, jam each other's toes.

"No no no stop! What is this, guys?" Our neighbour strode over, and separated us physically. "Who's leading here?"

"Me?" I said, a little uncertainly. Lacie shrugged.

"Well that's your first mistake," Roxanne said, hands on hips. "May I cut in?" Without waiting for Lacie to respond, she insinuated herself in front of me, and slid her arm around my shoulder.

"Hand on my hip, honey." I complied. "No, around back, press close." Palm suddenly sweaty, I slid my hand around the curve of her hip, resting just above her waistband. Her skin was warm and smooth to the touch. "Press close, I said." She leaned into my ear and whispered. "This is a dance for lovers, after all." Her lips were sticky as they brushed my earlobe. I blushed hotly.

"Lacie, honey, go and turn the music back on and I'll show you how it's done." Again, Roxanne's warm body pressed itself into mine, and my fingers reflexively dug a little deeper into her silken skin. "You can let your hand wander down a little, you know," she whispered. "I know how much you like my ass." A shiver ran down my spine.

"Stop!" I hissed. "I'm not going to grab your ass in front of my fiancee."

"We'll see," Roxanne purred. The music started. "Okay, Lacie, honey." She spoke over my shoulder while she subtly ground her hips into mine. "Now everybody tells you that the man is supposed to lead, but," shocking blue eyes drilled right into mine. "Men - especially young men like your Derek - just aren't equipped to know what they're doing on the dance floor. You see, we've got *hips*." At that, she made an exaggerated motion with her hips, grinding her pubic bone into my rapidly inflating cock. "And boys need to be shown what to do with their *hips*." She ground into me again. I watched, hypnotized, in the mirror bank behind us as her sinuous hips rotated and those magnificent buttocks swiveled likewise. "Now watch."

Lacie didn't say a word as our older neighbour swept me around the dance floor, one hand draped casually across my shoulders, pressed so tightly to my body that not an inch of space existed between us. With each beat, she ground her hips into mine, and I quickly learned to step to follow the pleasure she gave me; each step I followed was rewarded with a thrill of pleasure rocking through my body as Roxanne teased my rampant cock through my sweatpants.

"See?" said Roxanne. "He just needs someone to show him what to do."

Dizzy with arousal I leaned into her of my own accord, my left hand relaxing as she lead us around the room. My fingers played across the thinly-stretched spandex, worming of their own accord down towards her magnificent ass while I pressed my cock into her welcoming body.