It was the horniest of times, it was the stalest of times in the houses on Sycamore Hills. The cookie cutter suburb was just outside the city limits, but the generic exteriors and faux-stone facades hid simmering passions and just waiting to boil up to the surface. Take, for example, the Joneses and the Smiths. Every morning, Mrs. Jones goes off to work, leaving five minutes after her husband, and getting home 10 minutes before him. She's a corporate executive at a marketing firm down town, a power house of a women, who never takes no for an answer in the board room. Mean while, Mrs. Smith stays at home. She tends to the house, wearing checkered aprons and lowcut blouses, cleaning the house, and cooking dinners for her husband's return home.

Both women are reasonably happy with their lives and their choices. They get along with each other at neighborhood get togethers, complementing each others choices, and meaning it. But both also hold a quiet jealousy. Not for the lives they lead during the day, but for what happens at night.

Mrs. Jones' husband went to bed early tonight, but she stayed up late to catch her favorite show. No, not the murder mystery playing on TV, but what's happening across the street. Mrs. Jones peaks out the window, careful to be sure no one can see her watching, as Mrs. Smith is bent over on all fours on the bed. Her husband sits on his knees behind her, both hands on her ass as his tongue slides in her tight ass. Mrs. Smith moans out, her lipstick a mess from where his cock had just been forced down, begging for him not to stop. His fingers slide over her pussy as Mrs. Jones starts touching herself across the way. She watches as Mr. Smith makes his wife cum with his mouth. He watches her get behind him, pulling her hair as he fucks her from behind. He imagines SHE'S the one in their bedroom as Mrs. Smith takes control, pushing her husband to his back, groping her soft breasts as she makes herself cum while riding her husbands cock. Mrs. Jones stifles her strong moans, wishing she was the one begging for her husband to come on her face, as she cums by herself in her living room.

Mrs. Smith watches Mrs. Jones get home from work. She takes a drag from her cigarette, watching her husband gleefully come home shortly after. He's brought flowers. So thoughtful. So kind. Mrs. Smith won't be home for a bit, and dinner's already in the oven, so Mrs. Smith just watches as Mrs. Jones shows off the new outfit she got. It's lacy, revealing. His touch looks so tender as he takes his wife into his arms, gently kissing down her neck, tracking her form with his hands as if he's sculpting her. She watches as Mr. Smith takes his wife's breast into his mouth, the way he looks at her, like this is a pure expression of love. The way he picks her up, careful and loving but full of passion, as he carries her to the bed. This is sex driven by love. She imagines husband laying on top of her like that, looking into her eyes as he thrusts inside her, seemingly struggling to keep his lips off her as he fills her. She watches them cum together, and wonders what it must feel like, That night, when her husband is asleep, she'll put her vibrator on it's most gentle setting and pretend that she wasn't just as driven by wild lust as her husband.

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Both are happy with their lives. Both want more. How do these co exist? What will these ladies do if their jealousies come to light? or are they content just watching, using their imaginations to fill in the blanks?