Peter Jenkins - The reluctant neighbor

With her response, Peter had slowly begun fucking in and out of her, causing to build within her the fires, the desperate need of fulfillment that she had never before experienced. She began to move with him to match her rhythm to his, without wanting to, hating herself for her weakness, hating him because he was raping her, causing her to be unfaithful, against her will, until a dam broke within her and she tightened her hold on him, pulled him to her with all her might. And she had broken her silence.

"Ooooh God!" she remembered murmuring with disbelief up into his open mouth. "I-It's so deep inside me."

He had hooked her legs in his arms and had bent them back so far that her knees were even with her breasts, then moved his cock out of her vagina, almost all the way, with only the head of it inside the soft, clasping lips, then plunged back, causing her to gasp with the force of his passion, the pleasurable pain of him sending fire all through her body. He had plunged, ground against her, kissing and biting with his mouth, until she felt that she could no longer stand it, until she began to expand inside, to break and spill over with the greatest passion that she had ever known. She had clung to him, pressing her body to his, rising off the bed when he moved out of her, had caught him deep inside her cunt and waves of fire and relief had broken deep within her, then, exhausted, amazed at herself and the secrets that this total stranger had opened within her, lay unmoving but open wide for him while he increased his jabbing and plunging. He had moved faster and faster, his breath had come in gasps, then with a long and low moan he had ground within her, spewed his hot wetness inside her, then with piston-like movements had emptied all the remainder of his hot, white sperm deep down into the hidden recess of her satiated belly. Then dropped on top of her, his cock still in her, throbbing out the last dying sensations of his orgasm against the smooth, flooded walls of her vagina.

His prick had started to soften, then had been withdrawn from her leaving a thin trail of their warm secretions lying wetly across her thigh. He had rolled off her, then lay alongside her and tried to put his arm over her. Why, she didn't remember but she had knocked it away in a too late gesture of defiance. She had been fucked, and fucked good right in her own husband's bed, so why hadn't she just admitted it to herself instead of trying to soothe her conscience with a hypocritical act like that. He had taken a deep breath, then got off the bed and began dressing. "Look," he had said and she hadn't really listened to the rest.

Marily didn't know how long she had been laying as he had left her, nude, on the bed. She heard the front door open. She knew it was Fred, home from his day's work. She did not move except to pull a sheet over her nakedness knowing instinctively that he wouldn't approve of her like this.

"Marily?" Fred called, faintly, from the interior of the house. She did not answer. She hadn't thought of him since that morning, not at all since the rape upon her body. She couldn't think of anything to say to him now, even to answer his summons, so she said nothing. Shortly he entered the bedroom, looked at her on the bed, then, "Are you all right? Didn't you hear me call you?" Her answer was simple: "Yes."

He removed his hat, brushed it off on his coat sleeve, went to the closet, slid the door open, put his hat on the shelf from the exact position he had taken it from that morning, removed a hanger from the closet for his coat, then removed his coat, arranged it on the hanger, then brushed it before putting it in the closet. He then removed his shirt, folded it neatly, and put it in the dirty clothes hamper in the hall. He returned to the bedroom, the closet, took another hanger, of a different shape than the one he had used for his jacket, and then removed his trousers, made sure that the creases were aligned, then removed the hanger under them. He put that hanger in the closet also.

He then turned, sat in a chair and removed his shoes, then his socks. He took his socks to the same hamper into which his shirt had gone, then returned to the bedroom. He stood over the bed, dressed in his undershirt and briefs, and looked at Marily.

"Why are you in bed? In the middle of the afternoon? You've never done this before." He didn't wait for an answer, since she simply looked at him, but went instead to the other closet, opened it, then turned back to her with a startled look. "Where are my clothes?" he demanded.

"I didn't put them out today. Find the ones you wore yesterday," Marily said, trying not to sound angry.

"I can't stand the same clothes two days in a row. You know that. Why are you in bed?" He turned to look at her again. "You wouldn't believe it, Fred," Marily said, then turned onto her side, away from him so that she would not have to look at him nor he at her.

"Well, if you're ill all you have to do is say so. I mean I come home after working all day and find you in bed and what am I supposed to think. Then, you haven't done anything, apparently, all day. My clothes aren't even ready. Do you plan to make dinner or do you intend to ruin our whole daily routine?" He finished with an injured tone to his voice.

Marily wanted to hurt him, suddenly, just for the hell of it. She felt like crying not from her own debasing experience with their neighbor, but for hers and Fred's hopeless situation, which, she had to admit, had only become hopeless within the period of the last two hours. She turned back over in bed, looking at him and said, "Fred, let's make love."

"You must have a fever, Marily. You mean now, this minute, I presume? This is only Tuesday. We do that on Thursday night, and not in the middle of the afternoon. I would appreciate it very much if you would get up, after I have found some clothes for myself, and prepare dinner. I don't care to eat after seven o'clock, as you very well know." He was indignant. He rummaged around, knocked hangers about the closet, then finally pulled on a pair of trousers, doffed a sweater, then carried his sneakers out of the room.

Marily sighed, then sat up in bed. She felt dizzy. She stood, after a couple of minutes, and the waves of dizziness assaulted her again. The coldness of the air, on her nipples, her bare buttocks, jarred her somewhat and she laughed. She started, on impulse, to call Fred into the bedroom, then changed her mind. He had never, she reflected, seen her nude so she might just jolt him into a heart attack. But, she reflected, biting her under-lip, she had never seen him totally nude either. She went to the bathroom, put a shower cap over her head, turned the faucet to hot, then adjusted the cold water until she got the mixture she wanted, then stepped into the shower. Hell, she thought, once her body was covered with soap and her hands sliding comfortingly over its slippery surface, I ought to be thankful for being raped, and I ought to have a husband who would be so wounded that he would kill the man that did it. But, she almost laughed to herself, I'm not and I don't.

She rinsed off the soap, then stepped out of the shower, and dried herself vigorously. She felt that she had some of her purity restored, just by getting the outside of herself clean. She returned to the bedroom and dressed. She was still experiencing a throbbing in her vagina, deep down, next to the center of her being.

She passed through the living room with hardly a glance at Fred. He was sitting in his chair, reading the newspaper, waiting – she knew – for her to prepare his glass of vegetable juice. She did so, then returned to him, placed it on the table next to his chair and stood there, looking at he top of his head. He nervously rustled the paper.

"What would you like for dinner, Fred?" she asked.

He acted as though he had been slapped. His head flew back, the paper was smashed on his lap and he looked at her with a startled expression. "Marily, I must say I don't understand you today. This is Tuesday. We will have what we have every Tuesday. I see no reason to change our menus just because you choose to sleep all day, do you?"