Her hands met with his at his crotch, impatient fingers battling to unzip him. He was free but still not hard. It would be a race to get him rigid with blood before the coldness of the night won over. There was slight pressure at her shoulder but she was heading down anyway. The heat of her mouth as she engulfed him made him squirm and gasp. The flesh began to billow before she had even begun her work - such a wonderful, empowering feeling to have a man swell and harden in your mouth. She grasped at his balls, shaved bare and tight against the chill, but heavy enough to show he had been keenly anticipating this moment.
He liked to start this way, even on those warmer nights when he was already hard for her. She tried to make it as wet and as greedy-sounding as she could, those filthy noises so stark in the silence. The threat of discovery added spice. This was a relatively safe place to do it - a blind-spot from all the houses other than her own. However, they were overlooked by his upstairs landing window, so prying eyes might be able to pick them out in the shadows if noises drew their attention. Very occasionally they both got carried away and she would finish him like this. It didn’t do her much good, except as a reminder to him of the wonderful fuck-buddy he had in her. Tonight she wanted his hardness inside her, so she was careful.
‘Sporca zoccola, you suck my cock now!’ he snarled down at her. ‘Take me right to my balls, you cagna culo grasso - you filthy, fat-arsed bitch!’
She did. She felt her spit all down his sleek shaft and knew he was ready. She rose from her knees still grasping him and she turned to lean back into the wall, steering him in front of her. She lifted her right knee and his hand was already there to grasp behind her thigh. She was just about tall enough to be entered without being lifted, as long as he hunched down. Usually this way she would try to get both legs off the floor to become impaled upon him, using his weight pressing her to the wall to keep her in place. This allowed little movement but it did give some friction where required, although not enough to finish her, despite the added thrill of his filthy words in her ear.
That was the real treat of him: his tirade of nasty talk sneered, hissed and spat into her ear in the thick night silence. Some of it was in his heavily-accented English, though most of it soon became his native tongue. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know half of what he was saying. It was quite fun to imagine the insults. They were very probably the worst anyone could dream up, all derision of her and her slutty ways. They were often delivered whilst his hand was pressed hard to her mouth - something she ascertained he once liked to do to his wife, before they were married. The dirty talk fired them both, adding fuel to what out of necessity had to be fast and furious.
The wife, if not asleep, might have been alerted to the sounds of front doors opening, and be expecting his return. The guys often came back in dribs and drabs, depending on how much each wanted to drink, so he had some moment’s grace, between five and ten minutes but little more. A minute of that was lost while the coast was clearing. Often he would use the time to empty his beer-filled bladder up against the garage wall, just to prove that romance wasn’t quite dead. Then it was all go. It was either like this, with her against the wall, or reversed, with her mounting him, feet off the floor. Occasionally, when they were feeling very horny - and it had to be occasionally because the position put them out of the safety of the real blackness afforded by the wall - he would have her bend at the waist and he would go at her from behind. It gave her little stimulation where it mattered but it allowed him far more scope to move, plus she loved the added noise her slapping backside made, and the extra thrill of the increased risk of being caught.
She never minded that her own climax didn’t come. She would make too much noise anyway. She loved to go away filled with the thought that she could make any man’s knees buckle and turn him into a whimpering idiot. She lived for that feeling where you were so turned on it was like a warm, fizzing current being passed through your body. She liked to feel hot and on the point almost more than she liked orgasms. Certainly with the boys there was a sense of not wanting to give them the satisfaction that they could make her come. She wanted the upper hand, to drain them dry as quickly as she wanted but for them to fail her. However much they might like the “wham bam, thank you ma’am” approach, leaving her unsatisfied had to chip away at their ego, and if that wasn’t something to exalt in, what was?
‘Porca puttana!’ he gasped in her ear. He seemed more het up than usual tonight, no doubt because of the threat Hunter posed. It was nice to use this prick inside her to dream of the new man and imagine how he would feel there instead. There wouldn’t be any of the creeping around in the shadows, none of the frantic snatched fucks or the threat of discovery by the wife, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. Hunter was still more compelling than any man she had met. There was something about him and it wasn’t going away. It wasn’t just his looks either. Perhaps it was the fact that even though he looked infinitely capable of doing so, he didn’t feel the need to display his machismo. Generally she loved her men brimming with testosterone, so, since he had already confessed to insatiability, it was odd that he was willing to sit back and let the others take the limelight. Hard-to-get was a new one on her. He displayed a level of confidence through his silence that she found impossible to resist.
He thrust up as fast and efficiently as he could, filling her ears with a stream of obscenities, grasping and kneading her pliant bum cheeks like pizza dough, opening her up. She writhed and ground against his hardness with as much effort as her constriction would allow, her mind full of the mysterious new neighbour. Image those hands holding you in place, that gorgeous stiff meat inside you, that wonderful polite voice quietly reminding you that you were a pussy-loving, cock-sucking, dirty whore.
He finished inside her with a succession of stifled grunts and she clenched upon him to milk him dry. They didn’t bother with goodbyes. Her skirt came back down and she crossed his drive on tip-toes to avoid the blatant clack of her heels, not that she really cared. She heard his front door closing softly. She could have stuck to the shadows and gained entrance at the rear, since her front door was visible from the windows of at least three of the other houses. But who would be looking out at this time? Anyway, all the houses were dark -enough to give her no reason to believe that she had indeed been heard. In the bedroom of one of those houses, a lifted slat of the blinds was allowed to slip back to its normal position once her front door had closed behind her.
Taboo
Sometimes she had Hunter force her. Sometimes Maria had him on her, even though she had whispered ‘No, I can’t,’ or ‘I mustn’t,’ or ‘I won’t.’ He didn’t listen. Most often he would press his hand to her mouth to silence her, or prevent her refusals before she could speak them. She never fought him. He was way too powerful for that. He would force his way into her, into her thoughts and then into her body, and she seemingly had no way of stopping this. It was almost troubling to create scenarios in her head in which she was taken without consent, but they produced such powerful climaxes she was a slave to them. Privately she blamed him, for somehow instilling the idea even though his demeanour suggested he was far from the beast her imagination made him.
Always her husband was there, cuckolded within sight or within earshot but somehow never reacting to what Hunter was doing to her. Perhaps that’s why her fantasies had her failing to give consent: because she knew her husband could hear even if he did refuse to see. It would give him time to reflect on all those occasions he had fucked with her whenever he had wanted it. Better still it would remind him how the many ways he had cheated on her down the years - the sex texts, the secret webcam chats, the sticking his prick in the bridesmaid’s mouth, and who knew what else as yet to be found out - could so easily be repaid.
Her husband could be a sweetheart to her and he could also be a pig. She had clung to him with great pride all this time but the more years they spent together the more she envisaged the latte
r taking precedence. She couldn’t begin to imagine Roni’s husband, or Nesta’s, or Alicia’s, cheating on their wives with his same impunity. It was surely only a matter of time before he went the whole hog with another woman. That’s if he hadn’t already. For all his many faults and betrayals she still wanted him, but in his case familiarity was breeding contempt. Maybe his macho ego would only refocus its attention if he thought his rule over her was under threat.
Masculine power had always melted her. This was no big surprise. School biology classes and wildlife programmes soon reveal that nature makes the female seek the toughest, the one who can take her and see off all-comers. Strong genes are the key. It makes no odds that humankind had moved away from the caves and that the “fittest” these days was more likely to be a computer wizard rather than someone who could beat the crap out of any rival. It was hard-wired into the female system to covet strength and fighting prowess in her partner. It kept her safe, and her offspring safe. It augured a better and more successful future.
Females could sense this power in men, even if it wasn’t on display. The male could wear smart clothes and fabulously made shoes, could smell divine, smile so easily and have such ever-so captivating eyes, but they could never disguise the steel within. Heartlessness might seem like a bad quality to desire in a man but all females knew he was programmed to find himself a mate too, and when he did he would protect her with a passion like no other, with guts and fire and all his might. A mean streak was sexually attractive and that was very hard to ignore. Nature made it so. Her husband could be a prick to her but the subconscious notion that there was no one tougher out there to keep her safe always meant she was drawn to him and wanted him by her side, whatever he did. It was nature’s decision, not hers.
However, it was now so often Hunter she had on her mind, and these fantasies were coming with ever growing frequency. The more she did it the more she needed to do it. Relieving the itch was taking up a greater proportion of her time. It meant sneaking off whenever possible, feigning headaches in order to lie down for a while, or grabbing hasty moments of alone time, none of which was conducive to a relaxed and satisfactory finish. She was burning with the desire to be alone, to have an hour or two, a day or more to purge her body of the wild thoughts taking her over, to get him out of her system. But always she was busy with work or chores or the kids. Always her husband was watching over her shoulder. The needs of her body seemed to be almost possessing her. Long ago she had experienced these same urges but boyfriends had come along to make her forget this. Now there was no such outlet, other than the hasty fucks her husband gave her to relieve his own tensions.
If her husband wasn’t going to pay her better attention there seemed only one way to solve her problem. This was something she didn’t wish to dwell upon, especially as she had convinced herself that Hunter was somehow responsible for filling her mind with images of him just to further his own aims. Fantasising was one thing but acting upon them was another. That was surely a watershed too great to contemplate. Vows when broken stayed broken. She had meant hers when she said them, even though her husband could apparently forget his with such ease. The trouble was that promises were not human nature. Sexual urges were. Therefore, particularly for the male of the species, they were so much harder to go against. Some leeway had to be allowed here, although that didn’t mean she should jump on the same bandwagon. If you had the strength to back your vows you should use it.
Unfortunately, Hunter was just so disarming to be around. There was gentleness and humour, none of the sarcasm and venom and back-biting she was used to. And, fuck, was he gorgeous! It was as if someone had consulted her brain and senses and hormones, got them to concoct their vision of perfection and then produced it in solid form right in front of her. You try having that on your doorstep and then getting it out of your mind. Thinking of him gave her sparks and optimism. It made her long to seize and own the bliss he somehow embodied. That was why he forced himself upon her in her fantasies: because she needed him inside her despite all the vows she had taken. It was why she currently found herself so unable to concentrate on her work that she had to take herself off to the restroom to try and regain some focus.
She sat there in the cubicle, contemplating her itch. Masturbation in the work toilets was something she had never thought she could bring herself to do. It seemed like one of the ultimate taboos. There was the thought that everyone would instantly know what you had just been doing, the threat of interruption or discovery, and the coldly clinical surroundings. Moreover, there was that notion that you were not safe, that cameras had been covertly placed by the proprietors or the security department so that you could be watched at all times, even here. Usually, however horny one felt, once you sat down in here the urge quickly diminished. Today it did not. Whatever powers he had over her were currently being used in full force.
Stupidly she closed her eyes and immediately the mental images were clearer. He came silently at her and then her legs parted. He always approached in this way, without a word, in full view of her but somehow undetected by others. It gave her shivers, in her fantasy and in reality; such quiet omnipotence. The shivers made her squeeze and rub and the relief this brought freed the images in her mind to flow unchecked. The nerves, the humiliation of having to do herself in here of all places couldn’t quite be blanked out, serving only to add an edge of urgency to her actions. He was forcing herself on her, into her, but she knew she was willing it: the power of the man, the hardness, the heat - like he was dissolving her insides. It was like swimming alone too far out and seeing the approaching fin of the Great White shark. There was nothing one could do about it.
Her breaths came hard and audible but she let them. She even forced two fingers inside herself, something she only did on those very rare occasions when she had the luxury of time to dwell upon her rudeness. The squelch they produced seemed so loud and filthy in the echoing quietness. It brought a hot flush to her cheeks but she didn’t stop herself, even though the noise would be unmistakeable to anyone who walked in on her.
It was never dark when he came to her in fantasy. Here she was in her bedroom in bright morning sunlight, clad in her towelling dressing gown as she plumped up the pillows and made the bed. Suddenly out of nowhere he was behind her, pushing her forward to bend her at the waist with her arms out on the bed for support, a hand reaching around to clamp over her mouth. She could picture her own eyes wild, swivelling in panic towards the open door of the en suite where her husband stood noisily shaving, running the water loud and singing away as he always did. Surely she would be visible in the misting bathroom mirror, if her husband just changed his focus from himself and onto her for once.
Her gown was raised, thrown up over her back. Her G-string was tugged down to mid-thigh to leave her defenceless. Into her he went, opening her up with a drive that sent the shiver sweeping across her skin and set alive every nerve in her hot, wet sex. Why was she always so ready for him? The free hand went around to grip between her thighs, holding her fast. Then the thrusts started. They were deep and hard and slapping, although her husband just ten yards away sang louder still and masked the noise. Surely at any moment he would see what was going on? The fingers at her crotch were rubbing and pinching, matching the intensity of her own in real life, drawing the pleasure inexorable from within, making it build unstoppably. Then the shudder was all through her and she was biting her lip to stop the gasps becoming a shout as his seed sprayed warm within. Her hips were jerking and her mind was clouding but the fingers just kept going to wrench every bit of pleasure from inside.
He slid from her and she lay panting on the bed, still quaking. He was gone, like he was only visible when right next to you, but she could still feel him inside her, the joy of him. Her eyes stayed closed. It was over but the images in her head kept going, just to savour him a little while longer. She straightened, standing face flushed as the noise from the en suite abated. Her husband
would be finished soon and wouldn’t have a clue what had just happened to her. For the moment he had slipped away and that’s where it had to end. She pulled her knickers back up and felt the wetness leaching into the cotton. She emerged from the toilet cubicle and saw the passion still in her cheeks reflected in the restroom mirror. She waited until the colour ebbed, until her breath was more even and her legs were stronger. She made one final check and then left the toilet to return to work. But the taboo had been broken, just as easily as that, and she knew for sure that this was only going to happen again.
Girls’ Night Out
A full five weeks he had been there, Nesta calculated - nearly six in fact, and still he irresistibly inspired chatter. It was Maria who started it this time, before they had even finished their first glass of wine. There could be no substance to such conversations since none of them knew much about him. This was just fishing, to eke out the snippets others may have gained to help build a bigger picture, whilst secretly hoping that none of the others revealed enough to suggest they knew him the best. And since they knew so little they could fill in the gaps and make it all bawdy and suggestive without any guilt.
Maria was being particularly descriptive about what he might have hiding beneath his clothes, enough to make even Shelley blush and look away - a sign that she had given this subject a fair amount of thought. Maria was making them all giggle and gasp with her naughty musings. Imagine her husband hearing her talk about another man in such a fashion. He’d burn the whole place down in his jealousy. If he even got a hint that she was speaking like this he would hit the roof, but still she did it. It was clear there was a need to talk about Hunter, if only to make up for the lack of actual contact.
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