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THE JOYCES LANDED IN East Rock, New Haven, during the third week of April when the temperatures were rising, flowers and leaves had turned bright and colourful, reborn, even as we’d slipped into the nook of our lives as comfortably as a worn-in sole. We were looking forward to our eighth marriage anniversary, a milestone past the proverbial seven-year itch.
The Joyces were young and they were incredibly attractive. He was tall and slender with a boxer’s build and a name to match – Ray.
Eleanor was bronzed and voluptuous – let’s not mince words, she was a damn juicy bird. They reminded me of graduate students, like the kind I taught in the city, except these two dressed better, they carried themselves more sensually, they revelled in their bodies with a savvy beyond their years.
Rumours abounded for weeks prior to their arrival, as tends to happen with all newcomers. The first time my wife, Becky, and I laid eyes on them, however, was at a neighbourhood function held in the clubhouse.
They resembled royalty walking through that room and everyone vied for their time and attention. They were rigged casually for the spring night air, but the ease with which they flowed together made it stylish. I’d never yet met a woman who exuded more raw femininity than this one. She strutted past and sprouted hard-ons in her wake, made pricks quiver with one salacious flick of her tongue. By God, she could make a son of a bitch cream his pants with that naughty smile. Her eyes packed more fire than most women’s cunts. I carted the missus off home that evening, didn’t say a word to the Joyces, and I fucked my wife – truly fucked her – after more than half a decade.
I first approached them on a hot and humid afternoon while mowing my back yard. Our homes were separated by a tall wooden fence, but that day I heard voices, hushed laughter, coming from the other side. I shut off the mower and sidled up close to the fence. I lifted myself up to peek over for a chat, and formal introductions.
Formal or not, we were introduced on that day, and in a big way. The two of them were spread out on a plastic lounge chair, their flesh resplendent in the glare of sunlight, tawny and unblemished without wrinkles or an inch of cellulite. His back rippled with muscles all the way down to his slim waist, the one she twined her long legs around and squeezed as the tremors racked her body. His face was buried in her pussy, tongue lashing out at her clit. She was stroking his hair, jet black with not a hint of grey; she bit down on her lips, jittering and raising her ass when he hit the spot.
She saw me first, through dark, parted eyes, and smiled. She smiled a long while before, lazily, she grasped her husband by the shoulder and shook him. He stopped finally from his suckling and peered up, her juices slathered upon his chin. I was shocked motionless. He never flinched. He sat straight up, his long cock snapping up against his belly as she fixed her bikini bottom back over her cunt, and he waved. With a grin that was ear-to-ear, he cast his fingers into a gun and pulled the trigger.
The next day I returned home from work and my wife informed me she’d invited them over for dinner. Anger was my initial response; then feigned inconvenience when her inspecting gaze caught me. My wife had a good heart; she was a sheltered woman, her intentions always innocent, her impressions of people positive to a fault. She’d no concept of aberrant sexual behaviour. She’d little awareness of the type of person it took to shatter social conventions, to drive all preconceptions of acceptable behaviour down into the ground. I didn’t have the will to tell her about our neighbours’ exhibition, no way to explain the glint in both their eyes at the knowledge that I‘d seen them.
She fixed a dish that consisted of chicken breasts stuffed with goat’s cheese and sun-dried tomatoes, caramelised shallots and basil. The table was done up masterfully, our best plates and silverware. To top it off, a bottle of Sancerre Sauvignon Blanc from my wine cellar. They arrived perfectly on time, impeccably dressed, and Ray even brought along a bottle of his own, also a Sauvignon from the Alto-Adige region of Italy.
‘I trust you won’t mind,’ he said, ‘but your kind wife may have dropped a hint as to the menu.’
Eleanor greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, and her right hand firmly pressed on my stomach inches from my waist. Her touch was electric; it fired up images of the day before, of her squirming ass, restless bundles of flesh scalded by blazing embers, and the glimmering hair bristles on her pussy.
We sat down for dinner and before long their charm flowed as easy as the wine. Ray and I talked business, psychology and sports, all topics on which he seemed remarkably well versed. He was a writer, as was Eleanor – they’d met two years earlier at a weekend seminar in New York. When Becky asked for a list of their titles, it was Eleanor that responded:
‘Rebecca, sweetie, I’m certain we’ve not yet scribed anything you might have read.’
On that subject, nothing more was mentioned. They had plenty, however, to talk about. They’d travelled extensively as it were, all throughout Europe, South America, and even Africa. Their tales were galvanising; something about those stories was primordially stirring and licentious. Soon, I had forgotten all about the incident in their backyard.
Before departing they invited my wife and I to a barbecue at their house the following Sunday. No sooner did I shut the door behind them, than I scooped my wife up and ripped her clothes and mine, and on the stairway I ravaged her body with kisses, and her pussy I pounded with brutish thrusts.
When Sunday rolled around, my wife took far too long to get ready, longer than usual. I paced outside the bathroom, repeatedly glancing at my watch, clapping my hands impatiently. Ultimately, she had enough of me and told me to go on ahead.
I walked across the yard to their home. The front door was ajar and I wandered inside. The living room was decorated with a minimalist grace and a touch of allure I can only describe as sensuous. The glass door leading to the deck at the far end was slid open, spilling a gentle breeze in with the pour of sunlight. I walked past the kitchen and through to the patio. The sun blinded me, and then when my eyes adjusted I saw them.
She was bent over a sturdy wooden table, her heavy teats spewed into the salad bowl, and she was swearing up a storm through gritted teeth. He was still wearing his apron, but his pants were bundled around his pulsating knees. Sweat rolled down the side of his face and neck as he plunged his thick cock into her like a piston rod from behind. I’ve no earthly idea how long I stood there before he saw me, and stretched his lips into a shit-eating grin.
I scurried back inside despite his greeting. I paced quickly in the living room, for once in my life unsure of what to do. I was livid, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. I wanted nothing more than to give them a piece of my mind, tell them off, curse them back to whatever libertine wormhole they’d crawled out of. But reason won out. I’d just decided to tread back to my house when I looked up and found my wife standing in the open doorway, fixed up so beautifully she drew the air from my lungs.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, immediately sensing something was up.
I started towards her. Suddenly, her own expression changed and I stopped in my tracks. I swept my head around. Ray had eased in, once more completely dressed. Eleanor emerged soon after, the paradigm of composure and dignity, not a hair out of place.
I was stuck. We stayed for lunch, and my wife felt completely at ease. She ate their feast ravenously. She complimented the salad, especially, and with every bite she took, I grew feverish imagining her teeth nibbling on Eleanor’s stiff nipples, the pounds of succulent flesh. I had to hand it to them, they were smooth as hell the way they lured her into their world. They had her eating out of the palm of their hands. But I wasn’t convinced; I was far from being fooled.
The next day when I arrived from work, Eleanor was sitting on her front stoop.
‘Hey, stranger,’ she called out to me. ‘You got a moment to spare?’
She raised an eyebrow, stretching her back straight and swelling her breasts high on her chest. Her legs were bare in a pair of khaki shorts, and they were smooth and silky. She curled her mouth up in a lewd grimace. ‘So we can fuck each other’s brains out, of course.’
I nearly choked on my own tongue.
‘I want to talk,’ she said, laughing. ‘I think it’s overdue. Don‘t you?’
She went inside and, despite myself, I followed.
We sat in the living room about a yard apart. The bitch was dressed provocatively, or maybe it was my mind playing tricks, but I felt myself growing excited just staring at her. Thinking about how her eyes had screwed up when Ray ate her cunt. The way her breasts had pressed against the lettuce and cucumbers. The way her body had met every driving thrust of her husband’s cock.
‘I know you were bothered by what you saw,’ she said. ‘Ray believes I’m just being dramatic. But I know different.’
‘Can you blame me? What if I’d walked in with my wife? What if she’d seen that shit?’
She pondered a moment, chewing on her bottom lip, sultry as a summer afternoon.
‘You’re right,’ she said, nodding. ‘It was thoughtless of us. I suppose an apology is in order.’
I stood from my seat in a flurry. She watched me, amused, and her stare was so fucking lustful. Her legs were crossed, revealing more luscious thigh than I was ready to handle. And she was leaned back on the couch, her breasts pushed up, distending her white, silk-laced blouse.
‘I don’t need an apology.’
I started out. But I got to the threshold and my feet wouldn’t carry me further.
‘Hmm,’ she said, softly. ‘That’s fitting.’
I glanced back at her. She swung her right leg in a wide sweep and raised herself up.
‘You are still a man, after all.’
She began unbuttoning the front of her blouse, and even before I reached her, ceasing her hands, our eyes met. Hers were fire, flames engulfing the deep pools of blue. They burned with desire, insatiable, a wildfire. And mine – I can only imagine the raging inside.
With one swift move, I ripped the blouse and her breasts spilled into my hands. I shoved her down on the couch and tore her shorts and plied her underwear off so hard she yelped. Then I sank my tongue into her quim, spreading the juicy lips of her sex with my teeth, licking at the sweet nectar between her legs, drawing it out of her trembling, writhing body.
She pushed my face from her, then. Her chest rose and fell wildly and her eyes were ablaze with something savage. I knew what she wanted. I scrambled to my feet and yanked my trousers down around my knees.
I was inside her before reason interfered. And I was ramming it to her core. She moaned, loud enough to rouse the dead. Her hips bucked underneath me, grinding against my pelvis, seeking my thrusts even before I made them. Her cunt was equipped; it had a talent of its own, grabbed at my pecker, sucked it in, bit on the end when I reached her womb. It was a mauling, a primitive dance more like a beating, and it wasn’t meant to last, only to quench an appetite. I came with a torrent, shooting jet after jet of viscous white jism. When I tried pulling out she kept me fast. My cock still throbbed even though I was completely drained, and she shuddered at that last jerk, trembled uncontrollably. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she exhaled with a crack in her voice.
The orgasm passed, and she released her grip on me. I scrambled to my feet, then, tugged my pants up, and as I did, I focused my eyes on the belt buckle. When I did finally look at her, she gazed back at me dreamily. She soothed her furrow with both hands, and she smacked her lips.
‘That was delicious, baby. Hope we can do this again some time,’ she said, breathy as a mouse, ‘… neighbour.’
I turned and rushed out, slamming the door behind me. The air outside seemed crisper, the night fresher than it had in weeks. I skipped the ten feet to my driveway, on top of the world. My wife’s sedan was parked in the driveway. I smiled at that thought.
I made it to my front steps when a cold dread hit me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. Ray’s black Benz parked across the street. There was nobody inside. Something within me broke, and my feet propelled me forward, over the two bottom steps directly to the door. I threw it open and ran in, up the stairs and down the narrow corridor to my bedroom.
I sensed it before I heard it, and heard it before I saw it, but I saw it and couldn’t believe my eyes. He was bent over Becky on all fours, and lunging his prick into her to the hilt. She was screaming with wild abandon. I watched for only a moment, not long enough for them to notice, but it felt like a lifetime. Time stopped. Pulled back just a mite, like the pulling of a rubber band – and then snapped.
I’d never moved so fast. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and fired my arm back. The force threw him clean off my wife and off the bed. Becky coiled up, immediately, heaving the sheets around her body. Hiding herself from me. I would’ve laughed, could’ve died laughing, if I wasn’t so enraged.
I tried to speak, to curse her, to damn her – but no words came out.
Instead, I turned back to Ray. He was already on his feet. He didn’t bother grabbing his clothing. Simply walked out of the bedroom. I ran after him, and fuck – I would have thrown him down the steps if he hadn’t suddenly turned to me, glaring at me evenly.
‘This was a misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘On my part.’
I balled my fists, ready to strike.
‘You fuck mine,’ he said, slowly. ‘I fuck yours. Isn’t that how this goes down?’
I was shocked stupid. He slowly descended the steps, penis jutting out like a baton, and exited my home, leaving me speechless at the top of the stairs.
In a daze, I ambled back into my room and sat on the edge of the bed. Becky was perched on her end, still clutching the sheets tightly to her breasts. We didn’t speak. I knew that he’d told her. If not, then I knew she could smell Eleanor on me.
It’s difficult to verbalise what I felt; a mixture of anger and remorse, guilt, disgust and relief, betrayal and excitement beyond anything I‘d ever known. I wheeled around and snatched the sheets from my wife. I wrested them away from her. And took her in. Naked as I’d seen her a hundred times and still, I was more turned on than I’d ever been. It wasn’t until that moment that I realised how stagnant our lives had become, before the Joyces, how routine every aspect of our existence had turned out.
I couldn’t help myself. I thrust her back on the bed, yanking open my trousers and seizing my hard cock in my hand. She yielded to my touch, rough as it was. Her legs parted all on their own, wide and welcoming. I filled her with all that she wanted.
After it was done, we stared at one another, our breaths mingling, our bodies still united.
‘Divorce?’ she asked, finally.
I shook my head.
‘Do we move?’ I said.
All at once, it made sense to me. We’d both been searching, longing for an escape from the tedium of everyday. The spools of nature had turned evenly, and we’d succumbed without resistance. It clicked for me. How comfortable she’d seemed in their presence. How far she’d gone to impress them. How easily I’d fallen into the other woman’s arms.
‘We never had a chance, did we?’ I said.
She snaked her arms around my neck.
‘Only a man would have thought to fight it.’
‘Perhaps we should go over and apologise.’
‘Perhaps I should wear my black dress.’
‘The one that’s easy to take off?’ I smiled, warming to fate. ‘That sounds like a capital idea.’
I kissed my wife.
Her lips tasted of the man that had come into our bed.
And mine, they tasted of his wife.