The House on Cinder Lane
Copyright© 2025 by Dilbert Jazz
Chapter 10: The Neighbor
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 10: The Neighbor - In a world that ended in 2020, a 72-year-old widower with no prostate opens his door to three extraordinary women. Five years later, naked, titanium-collared, and complete, they prove love needs no working cock—only steady hands, overflowing trays, and hearts brave enough to burn clothes and build forever. Raw, explicit, tender, triumphant later-in-life BDSM poly romance.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Romantic Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Military Tear Jerker Workplace Sharing BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Male Oriental Female Hispanic Female Indian Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Safe Sex Squirting Voyeurism Water Sports BBW Big Breasts Public Sex Small Breasts Nudism AI Generated
Early August 2020
The heat wave broke on a Tuesday, leaving the air clean and the sky a ridiculous, cloudless blue. Bob declared it “backyard day” (the first time since Moving Day they would risk full nudity outside the house).
By 10:00 a.m. the four of them were in the fenced backyard, naked as the day they were born, moving through a yoga flow Alicia had choreographed specifically for three very different bodies and one very appreciative audience.
Bob sat in a teak Adirondack chair under the oak tree, iced coffee in hand, wearing only sunglasses and a small, smug smile. Susan was in downward dog, heavy breasts hanging, back arched like a cat. Nawana attempted the same pose and immediately toppled sideways, laughing so hard her curls bounced. Alicia flowed between them like water, correcting hips and shoulders with gentle hands and murmured Japanese instructions.
They had just moved into warrior two (Susan’s thick thighs trembling gloriously, Nawana’s ass flexed and magnificent, Alicia’s tattoos gleaming with sweat) when the doorbell rang.
Once. Twice. Three insistent times.
Bob’s head snapped toward the house.
Nawana whispered, “Amazon?”
Susan, still in warrior two, shook her head. “Amazon leaves it on the porch.”
Alicia’s eyes went wide. “Mrs. Henderson.”
Mrs. Evelyn Henderson (seventy-eight, retired librarian, president of the neighborhood watch, and possessor of a key to every gate on the street “for emergencies”) had been dropping off casseroles and passive-aggressive notes about lawn maintenance since Mary died.
Bob stood. “Inside. Now. Quiet.”
Three naked women scrambled (Nawana tripped over the yoga mat, Susan’s breasts nearly took out a potted hibiscus, Alicia vaulted the patio table like a ninja).
They disappeared through the sliding glass door just as Mrs. Henderson’s voice floated over the side fence.
“Yoo-hoo! Bob? It’s Evelyn! I brought snickerdoodles!”
Bob grabbed the first thing he saw (an oversized beach towel with a giant flamingo on it) and wrapped it around his waist like a sarong. He strode to the gate, opened it a careful six inches, and smiled the smile that had once made drill sergeants nervous.
“Morning, Evelyn. What can I do for you?”
Mrs. Henderson stood on the driveway in a floral housedress and orthopedic sandals, holding a Tupperware like a peace offering. Behind her, the gate to the backyard was still ajar.
Perfect.
“I was baking and thought of you,” she said, peering past him. “All by your lonesome in that big house. And I wanted to check—there were some ... unusual noises yesterday. Almost like chanting?”
Bob kept the smile fixed. “Yoga. New hobby.”
From inside the house came the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor, followed by a muffled Cuban curse and a hissed “¡Coño, Nawana, shhh!”
Mrs. Henderson’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline.
Bob stepped forward, blocking the gap. “My nieces are visiting from out of town. Helping me get the place in shape. You know how family is.”
“Nieces?” She craned her neck. “How many?”
“Three,” he said smoothly. “Very ... close family.”
At that exact moment Susan (thinking she was being helpful) poked her head out the sliding door, realized her mistake, and ducked back with the speed of a woman who had once escaped Iranian border guards.
Unfortunately, she was still completely naked, and the motion sent her braid whipping like a banner.
Mrs. Henderson’s eyes went round.
Bob sighed internally and switched to Plan B.
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