C28 My Plum Neighbor is a Pornstar-1

ANDY

I wiped the sweat from my brow, the cardboard box digging into my ribs as I shoved open the door to my new apartment. The place smelled like fresh paint and dust, the kind of sterile emptiness that screamed "starting over." I'd picked this quiet suburban edge of the city because I needed the silence after the divorce. No more fights echoing off walls. Just me, my half-empty bank account, and the promise of nothing complicated.

The window in the living room overlooked the shared backyard, a narrow strip of grass between my unit and the one next door. I dropped the box on the floor and cracked it open for air. That's when I saw her.

She was unloading a small moving van by herself, dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail, tank top clinging to her curves from the heat. Long legs in cutoff shorts, tattoos peeking from under the fabric on her thigh. She moved with this effortless grace, like she knew exactly how her body worked and didn't give a damn who watched. I told myself I was just being neighborly, but my eyes lingered too long on the way her breasts shifted when she lifted a heavy suitcase.

"Need a hand?" I called out before I could stop myself.

She glanced up, her eyes sharp, almost wary. A slow smile curved her lips. "I'm good. Thanks, though."

Her voice was low, husky, like she'd smoked too many cigarettes or whispered too many secrets. I shrugged and went back inside, but that image stuck. By evening, I'd unpacked enough to crash on the couch with a beer, the TV droning some forgettable game. The backyard light from her place flickered on. Curiosity got the better of me. I killed the TV and moved to the window.

Her curtains were half-drawn, not fully closed. Bad luck for her, or maybe she didn't care yet. She was in her bedroom, visible through the glass like a private show just for the shadows. I should have looked away. Instead, I froze.

She stripped off the tank top slowly, revealing full, heavy breasts with dark nipples already tight. No bra. She ran her hands over them, squeezing lightly, head tilting back as if testing the feel. My throat went dry. This wasn't some casual undress. Her fingers trailed down her stomach, hooking into those shorts, sliding them off along with her panties. Naked now, completely. She was shaved smooth, her pussy lips glistening even from here.

She lay back on the bed, legs spreading wide, one knee bent. Her hand dipped between her thighs, fingers circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. A soft moan carried through the cracked window—mine or hers? I couldn't tell. My cock hardened instantly, pressing against my jeans. She arched, sliding two fingers inside herself, pumping them while her other hand pinched a nipple. Her hips rolled, chasing the pleasure, breath coming in those little gasps that made my blood rush south.

I knew her. Not personally, but I'd jerked off to her videos more times than I cared to admit. Tiffany Voss. The Tiffany Voss—porn star who'd vanished from the industry six months ago amid some scandal. Here she was, next door, fucking her own fingers like she needed it bad. Her body tensed, thighs quivering as she came, a sharp cry escaping her lips. She didn't stop, riding it out, then slowing, chest heaving.

Guilt hit me like a slap, but so did the heat. I stepped back from the window, heart hammering, cock throbbing. Sleep didn't come easy that night. I woke up hard, her image burned in.

The next morning, I was out front checking the mail when she stepped outside in a loose robe, hair damp from a shower. She saw me and paused, that same sharp smile flickering.

"Morning, neighbor. Andy, right? I saw your name on the box yesterday."

"Yeah. Tiffany?"

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, but she recovered fast. "That's me. Quiet place, huh? Hope I didn't disturb you last night."

My face heated. Did she know? The window. Fuck. "Nah. Slept like a rock."

She stepped closer, close enough I caught the faint scent of her soap—something floral and musky. "Liar. I saw your shadow." Her voice dropped. "You watched me."

I swallowed hard. No point denying it. "Couldn't look away."

Instead of slapping me or calling the cops, she laughed softly, a throaty sound that went straight to my groin. "Most guys pretend they don't. You didn't." Her gaze flicked down to where my shorts were already tenting slightly. "Interested in more than just watching?"

This was dangerous. She was hiding here for a reason—paparazzi, exes, fans who got too obsessed. I had my own mess, the divorce papers still fresh, my ex threatening to drag me through court if I so much as looked at another woman wrong. But Tiffany stood there, robe slipping open just enough to show the swell of one breast, and all I could think about was how her fingers had looked buried inside herself.

"Inside," I said, voice rough. "Now."

She didn't hesitate. We slipped into my place, door barely clicking shut before she pushed me against the wall. Her mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, tongue sliding in like she owned the taste of me. I grabbed her ass, pulling her close, feeling the heat of her body through the thin robe. She ground against my thigh, already wet—I could feel it.

"Fuck, you watched me come last night," she murmured against my lips, nipping my bottom one. "Bet you stroked yourself thinking about it."

I didn't answer with words. I yanked the robe open, letting it pool at her feet. Naked again, perfect. Her tits were even better up close, heavy and soft. I cupped one, thumb flicking the nipple until she gasped. She shoved my shorts down, my cock springing free, hard and leaking. Her hand wrapped around it, stroking slow and firm, thumb smearing the precum over the head.

"Big," she whispered, almost approving. "Gonna feel good."

I spun her, bending her over the back of the couch. She braced her hands, ass up, legs spread. I knelt quick, spreading her cheeks, diving in with my tongue. She tasted sweet and salty, her pussy dripping. I licked from her clit to her entrance, sucking her folds, tongue fucking into her while she moaned loud, pushing back against my face.

"Shit—yes, like that," she panted. "Eat it. Harder."

I did, two fingers joining my tongue, curling inside to hit that spot. Her thighs shook. She came fast, flooding my mouth, a broken cry tearing from her throat. I stood, not giving her time to recover, and lined up my cock. One thrust and I buried myself balls-deep in her tight, soaking heat.

Tiffany arched, nails digging into the couch. "Fuck— so full." I pulled back slow, then slammed in again, setting a brutal rhythm. Her pussy clenched around me with every stroke, wet sounds filling the room. I reached around, rubbing her clit in tight circles while I pounded her. She met every thrust, ass jiggling, back curving.

I grabbed her hair, pulling her head back just enough to see her face—eyes half-lidded, lips parted. "You like being watched, don't you? Porn star next door, teasing me through the glass."

She laughed breathlessly, then moaned as I hit deep. "Maybe I left the curtains open on purpose. Wanted to see if the new guy had the balls to do something."

I fucked her harder, skin slapping, sweat slicking our bodies. Her second orgasm hit, walls pulsing around my cock, milking me. I didn't stop, chasing my own release, but I pulled out at the last second, spinning her to face me. She dropped to her knees, taking me in her mouth, sucking deep, tongue swirling. I came down her throat with a groan, her eyes locked on mine the whole time, swallowing every drop.

We collapsed on the couch after, breathing hard. Her head rested on my chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach.

"This stays between us," she said quietly. "I left that life. Don't need it following me here."

I nodded, but my mind was already spinning. The way she moved, the secrets in her eyes—it wasn't just sex. There was more. "Why here? Why me?"

She hesitated, biting her lip. "You seem... normal. Safe. But you watched like you wanted to ruin me." A pause. "My ex—producer guy—he's looking for me. Thinks I owe him. If he finds out I'm fucking the neighbor..."

The knock on my door came sharp and sudden. We both froze.

"Tiffany? Open up. I know you're in there with him."

Her eyes widened, fear flashing real and raw. My heart slammed. The voice outside was angry, possessive. Not a stranger.

She whispered, "That's him. Fuck."

The knob rattled. "I saw the curtains last night, you slut. Thought you could hide?"

I pulled her closer, cock already twitching again despite the dread, the danger thick in the air. What the hell had I gotten into? And why did part of me not want it to end?