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Part 4 of a 4-part series: American Neighbors
Neighbors with Benefits



“Can I help?” I shouted from my front porch.

It was a hot May morning and the movers had left after unloading a truck load of stuff. My new neighbor seemed to be a 20-something girl cradling a baby on her arms. Drop dead gorgeous, she was about 5′ 5″ tall and curvy, probably trying to still shed the weight she had put on during pregnancy. I couldn’t help wondering why the baby’s dad had left her to deal with the move by herself instead of being there to help.

She was trying to unload an over-stuffed suitcase from the trunk of her SUV while rocking a crying baby at the same time — and not doing a good job of it — when I offered to help.

“Thanks!” She shouted back, “I would appreciate it a lot.”

I made my way across. “I am Vijay,” I said extending a hand and introducing myself, “your neighbor as you can see, but most call me V.”

“Angela,” she said smiling and shaking my hand, “friends call me Angie.”

“Ok,” I said, “Angela for now, and hopefully Angie soon.”

She giggled at that and I proceeded to unload a couple suitcases from the trunk and a few boxes out of the back seat of her SUV. She led the way back into her house where boxes were piled all over the living room and kitchen. Following her instructions, I left the suitcases in the master bedroom and set the boxes on top of other boxes in the living room.

“Thanks a lot for the help,” she said rocking her baby who had quieted down by now and seemed to be sleeping, “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said looking around, “and don’t hesitate to holler if you need help putting things away and setting up the place.”

“I will take you up on that,” she replied, smiling again.

“Hey listen,” I said, “you obviously can’t cook today with the kitchen the way it is. If you don’t mind home made Indian food, you are welcome to drop by for lunch. Or for milk if your baby needs some, or anything at all.”

“Never tried Indian food,” she said, “I’d love to try. Thanks for being so welcoming.”

“Anytime,” I said.

I left after we exchanged phone numbers and she promised to call as soon as she had the absolute essentials put away, the baby taken care of and had taken a shower.



We were sitting around the dining table, chatting, having just finished eating.

An hour after I left, she had called and then shown up, dressed in a spaghetti strap tank top and shorts, her hair still wet from the shower. Her ample breasts were straining against the flimsy fabric of her tank top, making her nipples poke out. Even though she looked nearly half my age, I couldn’t help the stirring I felt in my pants and struggled to keep a poker face.

Over lunch — between 20 million compliments about the food — I had learned that Angela was 21 years old, exactly half my age. She had moved to the US from France for studies a few years ago and met the dad of her 6-month-old baby boy at college. He was a local sports star and she soon fell for him. They started dating. She eventually moved in with him a year ago and promptly got pregnant.

She was five months pregnant when, one day, the security officer had shown up at her doorstep looking for the guy. She had no idea he dealt in drugs. To make a long story short, he was arrested and was now in jail. She had no intention of having any of his influence on her child and had rented the next door place as soon as college had ended and she had saved up enough money for the deposit. So here she was, a single mom against the world, working as a waitress in a fast food joint nearby.

I told her about myself — 42 years old, single by choice, living alone, a foodie and travel enthusiast and a writer or erotica by profession. She seemed excited about meeting a real author of erotica in person and demanded to see some of my writing. I told her about Secret Hopes and she promised to check it out once she got back home.



Over the next few weeks, she came over quite regularly, truly seeming to enjoy Indian food and had invited me over as many times and treated me to some delicious French and American food. The baby and I hit it off and I even babysat for her in the evenings whenever she was working an extra shift.

“Your stories are steamy hot,” she said one day as we finished dinner at her place.

“Thank you,” I said dramatically bowing my head in appreciation.

“They are a single mom’s best friend on lonely, hormonal nights,” she said, and blushing as she realized what she had just said, she added, “sorry, that was too much information that you didn’t want to know.”

“Hey, you don’t have to apologize.” I said, “I don’t judge. They are a single man’s best friend too. They are an expression of my erotic side. I am single, unattached and living alone. A guy needs release and — in the absence of beautiful neighbors like present company — writing stories helps.” She blushed at the backhanded compliment.

“Doesn’t writing all these hot scenes not turn you on?” she asked with innocent curiosity.

“Yes, it does,” I conceded nodding sheepishly, “a lot. A guy needs to take matters in his own hands,” I added laughing.

“Oh boy…I hear you,” she said blushing an even deeper shade of pink, “hormones are a bitch.” We both laughed at that.

By the end of the month, we had become good friends, spending considerable amount of time together — the baby and food were convenient excuses to have company instead of being alone.



As familiarity grew and Angela became Angie, her inhibitions progressively disappeared. I had seen her in her lingerie when I was invited for dinner, had seen her breastfeeding her baby, her naked breast on full display except for the nipple that had a baby attached to it, sucking contentedly. I confess, I wished I could suckle on the other nipple whenever I saw her breastfeeding her child.

She felt comfortable (and I felt aroused) hugging me and kissing my cheek, her breasts pressed against my chest. I had held her through horror movies and through emotional moments when she vented about her ordeal since meeting her child’s biological father.

The day the inevitable happened is etched in memory as fresh as if it was yesterday. I had no intention of seducing her and truth be told, she seduced me instead of the other way around.



I’d had the baby all evening. I had just shown up at her place with the baby while she was cooking in a long spaghetti strap tank top but hadn’t bothered to put on shorts. She was busy in the kitchen and I joined her there after the sleeping baby was tucked away in bed in the second bedroom that she had decorated for the baby.

Her back was turned to me as I entered the kitchen and started pulling dishes out of the cabinets to set the table.

“Oh my God!” I gasped as she turned around, my jaw dropping visibly. There were two wet patches on her tank top from obvious lactation she hadn’t been aware of. Embarrassed and red-faced, she ran to her bedroom and reappeared a few minutes later in a similar outfit, only red this time.

Over wine and dinner, as she apologized for the accident, I confessed that I had been extremely turned on by it — that I had always found lactating women erotic.

Over dinner, the conversation turned towards our erotic sides. She wanted to know how much reality went into my stories. I said a lot of what went into the requested stories was dependent on what the requester wanted. In my stories, some things were added just because the storyline demanded it but things that appeared frequently in my stories were because of my own sexual bias towards them.

“So….” she said, looking down and hesitating, “lactation has appeared in your stories as has adult breastfeeding….”

“Yes, both are my fetishes,” I conceded, “and I enjoy eating a woman to orgasm. And I am not a one-and-done guy.”

“Meaning?” she asked.

“Well, I like to do it multiple times, not just once like most guys.”

“Oh!” she said, blushing. An uncomfortable silence followed, with both of us sipping our wine silently, our thoughts in places that were probably inappropriate to share… yet.

“He didn’t like it,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Eating me,” she added, “he did it sometimes, but like a formality and only when I was really needy. He was all about his release and was done once he came, snoring away within minutes while I had to satisfy myself.”

“I am sorry,” I said, “not just about that, but that he even happened in your life. Some guys are just bad news.”

“I am sorry to lay all that on you,” she apologized again, “You probably didn’t want to know those details about my sex life. You probably think I am brash.”

“Not at all.” I said, “you probably would think of me as a pervert if I told you that I find you sexually attractive. That I am turned on whenever I see you feeding the baby. That your very presence turns me on.”

“Really?” she asked, unsure if I was serious or just humoring her.

“Cross my heart,” I said. Another awkward silence followed with both of us sipping our wine silently. The baby woke up wailing and needy and Angie excused herself to feed the baby. I sat at the dining table sipping wine as I heard the crying stop, followed by faint sounds of sucking and then a contented burp. Angie returned a few minutes later, having put the baby back to sleep.

“Would you like to suck them?” She asked after a few uncomfortable minutes, as if reading my mind because I was imagining sucking on those gorgeous lactating tits.

“Oh God yes,” I said, staring at her breasts, “and this is your cue to throw me out.” I added.

Instead, she got off the chair and walked over to me. Sitting on my lap, she pulled one breast out of the tank top, inviting me to suck on it.

As I licked her erect nipple, she moaned, a drop of milk leaking out. I took it in my mouth and sucked hungrily, devouring her warm milk as she moaned and groaned in pleasure.

“I have fantasized about you doing this from the time I read about it in one of your stories,” she said as I continued to suck on her. “And, full disclosure, I have masturbated thinking about you after reading your stories. It’s been so long since…”

“You won’t have to masturbate anymore,” I said taking a break from sucking her nipple and pulling her tank top off completely. Dressed only in her panties, Angie let me suck one nipple followed by the other while my hands played with her free nipple and squeezed the breast. I was rock hard and eager to take it further.

Again, as if reading my mind, Angie got off my lap and took my hand, leading me to the bedroom, taking my shirt off during the short walk, while I got rid of my tracks and underwear.

I got on top of her as she lay in bed. I squeezed a breast till a drop of milk trickled out of her nipple before taking it in my mouth and milking her.

Reaching down, she grabbed my erect shaft and started stroking it.

“Oh FUCK! I had no idea this could be such a turn-on” she said as I sucked her. After a short silence, she added, “your stories suggest you like giving oral and not so much receiving it. Is that right?”

“Um….hmmmm….” I mumbled, nodding in the affirmative into her breast.

“Eat me,” she said, pulling my head off her breast.

Spreading her legs, I moved her panties aside and licked her opening. She had shaved and her young pussy was already moist and glistening with her wetness.

Licking her honey off her pussy, I opened her with my fingers and sucked on her clitoris. Angie groaned as I sucked on her clit and licked it. After a few minutes of devouring her clit, I slid my tongue into her hole, as deep as it would go.

“Oh yesssss…..” Angie hissed as I started rubbing her clit with my thumb while sliding my tongue in and out of her, tongue-fucking her. She started moaning loudly, her eyes closed tight, thrusting her pussy into my mouth in rhythm with my tongue.

“Oh yes, oh God yes… OH FUCKING YESSSSSS,” she was mumbling. Alternating between her clit and hole, I devoured her, hungrily eating her, lapping up her juices while she moaned, groaned and wriggled in pleasure. Before long, I was eating her furiously with my tongue, lips and teeth driving her wild.

“I’m gonna cum,” she groaned after a few minutes of getting eaten, trying to push me away. Instead, I grabbed her hip to hold her in place as her orgasm shook her body.

“OH FUCKKKKKKKK…..YEAAAAHHHH” she screamed and shook, cumming in my mouth. I lapped up her orgasm and continued eating her through and beyond her orgasm. Ten minutes later she came just as violently and yet again five more minutes later. I had just eaten her right through three orgasms and she was begging me to stop.

“Put it in me,” she said between gasps in a raspy, hoarse voice, trying to reach for my shaft as I refused to stop eating her. She had said the magic words.

“I don’t have any protection,” I said.

“I don’t care” she rasped, “just put it in. I want you in me.” she adding commanding me.

Getting between her legs, I rubbed my shaft against her opening, lubricating it. Even though she had cum thrice and was as lubricated as she could be, she was incredibly tight as I entered her. Her muscles were gripping my cock, pulling me into her.

“FUCK, you’re huge,” Angie groaned as I buried myself all the way inside her. Once all the way in, I held myself there and kissed her passionately.

As I started moving inside her, I started sucking on her nipple again, savoring her warm delicious milk. As I moved faster, I sucked harder. Angie was moaning and groaning, thrusting her hips up as I drove down into her.

As her free nipple started leaking milk, I switched nipples. I milked one nipple after the other gradually increasing my tempo.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, yes, ah, yes, ah…” Angie was grunting with every thrust as I slammed all the way into her while continuing to milk her.

“Oh God……” she moaned as my thrusts turned into a frenzied drilling of her pussy, “I’m fuckin’ gonna cum again.”

I started drilling her even faster, building up to my own climax. She must have felt my cock start to throb inside her and swell because she groaned, “wait for me….please wait for me….”

I struggled to not explode, pounding away as fast and as deep as I could.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she gasped with each thrust before screaming as her back arched and she came.

As her pussy muscles contracted with her orgasm, I went over the edge and came, thrusting hard into her as my cum erupted deep inside her.

“Oh my fucking God,” Angie gasped after both of us had caught our breath, “that was fucking amazing.”

“You are amazing,” I said, kissing her.

“You are incredible. Best fuck everrrrrrr!” she purred. We lay as a tangled mass of sweaty bodies.

After a few minutes, I asked, “regretting it yet?”

“Nope,” she said smiling and shaking her head, “I was actually wondering….” she said rolling over on top of me, “whether you actually meant it when you said you aren’t a one-and-done guy.” Reaching down, she started stroking my member back to life.

We ended up staying awake all night.



“Did you write something today,” she asked after we had done it a couple times one night.

“Yes, why?” I asked.

“I think I can see a pattern,” she said giggling, “you are different on some days… more intense… more needy… something, I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Full disclosure?” I asked looking at her pretty face, flushed from a couple hours of intense fucking and she nodded, smiling. “I often think of the women I write about when we are doing it.” I added, “does that offend you?”

“No, in fact, it turns me on.” she said giggling more, “I suspected it, but wanted to be sure.”

“You know what would be an idea,” she continued, excited and getting on her elbows “we could role play the stories you write, if you want to.”



And so, for the past year or so, we have been doing it at every opportunity — from quickies to whole weekends spent in bed, fucking over and over, taking breaks for the bathroom, to eat and tend to the baby’s needs.

We’ve recreated many of my stories in bed and are often actively playing out the stories as I am creating them. It helps that both of us are virtually insatiable and can’t have enough sex, so if we aren’t doing it as us, we are doing it as the characters in my stories.

Neither of us wants a relationship. She is still smarting from a bad relationship and I am happy with my single status. Both of us are content with our neighbors-with-benefits arrangement. And, I believe, am secretly addicted to her milk now.



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Disclaimer: All pictures are collected from the web. This story is 100% fiction. 

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