"The reluctant neighbor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jenkins Peter)

CHAPTER THREE

The following morning Marily went into the garden for her first cigarette of the day, but she stayed under the eyes of the house. She did not venture into the patio, did not inspect the plants, look at the rose buds nor notice the snails that crawled about. She found that she was extremely nervous, that all her instincts had somehow deserted her. She took a deep inhalation of smoke, slowly let it out, then breathed deeply. It did not help. She was still jumpy.

She went back to the kitchen, took her place at the table, put the toast in the toaster, then poured the coffee. Her husband came through the door as she was pouring his coffee. He took his seat across from her, then said, "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. I suppose so. Fred… I," she paused, unable to go on, not knowing what she wanted to say, or how she wanted to say it.

"You're still upset this morning. I don't understand it, Marily. What is it?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"I don't know. I… I don't want to stay home today. I want to go somewhere, anywhere," she blurted.

"Marily," he said tiredly, "You're free to go anywhere you like but it isn't your day for shopping, not your day for the library, and I don't know where else you would want to go. Why don't you get to know your neighbors? We've been here for two months now and you still don't know anyone to talk to."

She wanted to laugh. She knew one neighbor very, very well, more than he would ever be able to believe, but she couldn't tell him that.

"There must be some clubs in the neighborhood for women. Where they sew or talk or read or something. Isn't there?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Marily, I want to tell you something. I have a surprise. I was going to tell you last night but… I didn't. Old man Callan is sending me to Chicago. I leave Friday and I'll be there until Wednesday of next week! How about that?" He smiled.

"That's wonderful, Fred. Am I going, also?" she looked across the table hopefully at him. Perhaps this would give her a few days away from this place and a chance to collect her scattered thoughts.

"No. As a junior executive, Marily, I'm very lucky to be getting the chance, the opportunity, to represent the company on such a big deal. I couldn't very well ask that they pay your way and your expenses, too." He seemed hurt she wasn't ecstatic over his good luck.

"But what will I do here?" she asked bitterly, almost crying. She wanted to tell him about Peter, almost started to, but she knew that as far as he was concerned the discussion was closed. He wouldn't consider her, not with such an unexpected bit of luck presenting itself. He didn't answer. She supposed that he already had, in a sense, by quizzing her about the clubs in the area. Damn him, if that's all he cared about then maybe he deserved having an unfaithful wife. Maybe he deserved everything he would get, or she would get, she mused wryly. As soon as Fred left for work Marily made a decision. She dressed and went to the store. She purchased a bottle of gin, asked the clerk for a good bottle of vermouth, and a bottle of small olives. Then she went to the grocery store, bought enough meat for sandwiches, then went home. She was nervous but determined.

At 12:20 she looked at the clock in the kitchen and almost cried. She couldn't remember what time he, Peter, had presented himself in the garden yesterday, but she felt certain that it had been before 12:20. She drank a cup of coffee, walked about the living room, then the thought occurred to her that perhaps she should be out in the garden. No. She would never permit him to think – to know – that she was waiting for him, could not ever let him know that she was looking forward to seeing him again. How then, she wondered, was she to explain the pitcher of martinis? The prepared sandwiches? She felt as though she were losing her mind. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a martini and drank it straight down.

At five minutes of one, Marily was drunk. She had consumed three martinis and had cried and had washed her face and had applied make-up and had settled down with another martini. Then she heard her name called, softly, from the door leading to the patio. She sprung up from the chair, weaved slightly, then made herself stand still. She would not, she insisted, show how eager she was. She walked slowly to the door and looked at him, standing there, smiling, waiting for her. That was all it took.

Marily hurriedly opened the door and fell into his waiting arms. She clung to him, found his mouth with hers, and kissed him long and passionately. She felt him lift her off her feet, move back into the kitchen with her. His hands familiarly sought the soft mounds of her buttocks and pulled her toward him, into him. They kissed for what seemed like seconds for Marily but was actually five minutes. She was crying with joy when he lifted her away from him.

"Where's my martini?" He wanted to know, smiling his arrogant smile at her eagerness. But now, with the weight of the martini's lying heavy in her mind and the bitter thought of her husband's maddening disinterest in her welfare still ringing in her ears, his arrogance over his seduction of her didn't seem to matter quite so much. She was using him this time as much as he had used her before and the forbidden thought of committing adultery with another man right in her own husband's bed strangely frightened and yet excited her at the same time. It was going to be a big step in her life to do it voluntarily this way and a gnawing sense of hesitation pervaded her alcohol dazed mind. She knew once it started, there would be no turning back and she would be completely at the mercy of the whims of her body. But… she also knew that even now it was too late. The lewd, but exciting thought of again, this time from desire, of opening her legs to her neighbor's husband, had driven her beyond the point of any resistance to his advances.

She stifled a sniffle, went to the refrigerator and took the pitcher of martinis from it. She poured him one, put an olive in it and watched his hands as he took it from her. He sipped, smacked his lips, widened his eyes, and said: "Perfect."

Between kisses and using his hands on her buttocks and breasts, Peter consumed that martini and asked for another. He drank that rather rapidly in the same manner, then calmly placed the glass on the table next to the couch and said, huskily, as though commanding a prostitute: "Let's go to the bedroom."

"I made some sandwiches," Marily said, softly, hoping that he would take time to eat them now and give her a chance to collect her thoughts. Perhaps even a chance to back away from this horrible thing she was about to do. But, his answer gave her no respite from the decision she had made in anger earlier in the day.

"We can eat those after," he said, lifting her off the couch and guiding her to the bedroom. "Undress me and kiss me," he told her just inside the door, pressing his lips against her nose.

She did as she was told, knowing there was no backing down now. She removed his jacket, then mashed herself against him, probing gently into his mouth with her tongue. Then she removed his tie, and he awarded her with a searing kiss of a longer duration than hers had been. She started to unbutton his shirt but he guided her hands to his trousers. She was nervous and fumbling, but she managed to unbuckle the belt, then the zipper, then she moved his trousers down his leg. She blushed when she remembered his shoes and that they would have to come off before his trousers. She followed as he dropped back in to a chair and dropped to her knees and undid his shoe laces, then removed his shoes, receiving a kiss for each one. Then she dragged his trousers off his leg, started to fold them, but he motioned for them, took them out of her hand and threw them across the stool of her dressing table. He stood, kissed her and pressed his hardening penis into her stomach. She started to unbutton his shirt, but he pushed her hands down to his jock shorts. She blushed again, feeling suddenly more wicked than she ever had in her whole life, and put her hands around the waist band of his shorts and slipped them over his hips. She had to bend to take them off his legs, from under his feet and her eyes locked involuntarily on his mammoth cock, hanging as it had yesterday from under his shirt, straight down, the head of it purple and huge.

"Kiss it," he told her, putting his hand on top of her head. She did, after a slight moment's hesitation. But barely touching it with the soft wetness of her lips. He laughed, pulled her up in his arms and said, "You're innocent. And very, very nice. Take off my shirt."

She was so nervous that she thought she would never get all the buttons undone and the French cuffs gave her a lot of trouble. She made it, however, and slipped his shirt off his back. Then she took the bottom of his undershirt and raised up over his broad shoulders, then over his head, then flung it over her head and fell into him. He took her in his arms, moved his hands to her buttocks, massaged and squeezed her soft, pliant mounds, and kissed her totally with his lips, his tongue and his teeth. She felt faint, her desire for him overpowering her, making her legs weak and her stomach tingle.

Then he broke away from her embrace and began to undress her, tossing her clothes in a heap, biting her breasts as he permitted one to spring free, then the other, then dropping to his knees and gently removing her panties, kissing her stomach, her pubic hair and nibbling hungrily at her thighs.

Marily was in a quandary. She was trying to examine her own emotions, her complete abandon of herself to the pleasure of sex, her lack of moral convictions, that she should be thinking about, the building fires, pin point sharp, that were bursting within her, driving her crazy. She had never wanted anything, anytime, anymore than she wanted Peter now. She could hardly breathe.

He gently laid her on the bed then moved her dressing table so that it was at the direct foot of the bed, then tilted the mirror so that she could see herself, from head to foot, reflecting in the glass. He eased himself onto the bed, so that he was laying on her stomach and lowered his head to her full ripe breasts. He kissed first one, then the other, then licked one from her chest to its very end and sunk his mouth over and onto her nipple. Marily involuntarily rose up, pushed her breasts up, toward him. He sucked with his strong tongue, then teased her nipple with his teeth until it hardened, sprang into life all by itself. Then he moved to the other, repeated the same with it.

Marily lay under him, her hands rubbing his back and shoulders and his head, her fingers in his hair, pressing his head down into the softness of her naked body. She felt that she was alive in every cell of her being from the tip of her toes to the very top of her head. She glanced into the mirror and saw the two of them reflected there, he feeding on her, her moving and groaning under him, feeling as she was certain an actress must feel before the cameras of a dirty movie.

He put his mouth over hers, cupped her breasts with his hands and massaged and squeezed, and probed her mouth with his tongue, mixing his saliva with her, then drawing it out of her, then probing back into her throat, in and out like a slippery, wet serpent.

Marily wanted to consume him, all of him, through her mouth. She felt her lips burn, her tongue was beginning to get sore and enlarged, and she gasped desperately for breaths of air. He stopped kissing her, rolled over on his back, and pulled her on top of him, sideways as he had been on her. She put her mouth on his, probed his lips with her tongue until they parted.

He bit her lips. She drew back, startled, and he raised her by the shoulders and moved her so that her breast was over his mouth, then he sucked it in, worked over the hardened nipple with his lips and tongue and then his teeth until she cried out from pain, then moved her again so that the other breast hung over his face. She got the same treatment on that one, then he lifted her again so that her mouth was on his.

He moved his hands down the smoothness of her back and rubbed her hips where the soft white curves started, then over the roundness of them between her legs, then tentatively softly parted the soft, sparse pubic hair and worked his finger into her soft-lipped cunt and teased the tip of his thumb lightly against the rubbery tissue of her anus.

Marily moaned softly up into his mouth, feeling every movement of his hands over her and about her and opened her legs slightly to feel the finger moving into her wetness and probing, gently, deeper, the warm, moist walls giving to permit the object inside her without pain. She was surprised when he slowly wormed his thumb into her anus, felt the sharpness of the pain which she found endurable and enjoyable and sucked and bit his tongue, worked herself into a frenzy there on him, her moving hips doing the love making. Then, with his probing fingers in both her openings, she started rotating her hips, grinding down on his hands, all her sensations rushing over the sensitive flesh of her naked body. She knew that she was going to have an orgasm, a small, delicious, tiny one that would lead the way to a greater and more cataclysmic one later when he had crawled between her open thighs and fucked her the way her husband never could.

He took her hand in his and guided it to his throbbing prick. Marily felt the hardness that her hand could never completely encompass, and another thrill went through her, surging from her hand to her breasts to her contracting vaginal walls, wave after wave of it, rippling salaciously against her insides. She tried to move onto him, wanted to guide the pulsating hardness into her vagina, but he wouldn't permit it.

He moved her head away from his, then toward his chest. She nibbled at his nipples, which were so very strange, so different from her own prominent ones, so much so that they almost weren't there, then he moved her head down his stomach, and taking a handful of hair, lifted her head and gently levered her mouth to the head of his prick.

She looked into the mirror and saw the monster of pleasure standing tall and excited under her mouth, and she cried out, "No!" before he shoved her head down, filling her mouth full with the wonder of his hard pulsating flesh. But, it was too new, too fast, and she lifted her head, eased the head of his cock from her mouth, and he understood and moved her back alongside him. He kissed her mouth, then her breasts, then moving down her body, her stomach, and spread her legs, kissed and bit her thighs until she thought she would be consumed by the flames of her own burning self. He slowly but surely spread her cuntal lips with his fingers and probed the soft hair-lined pinkness of her vagina with his tongue. He moved the clitoris back, then forward, then shoved his tongue into her, causing her to buck upwards, grinding the wetness of her naked loins towards his face. He stopped, abruptly, and crawled up on top of her.

She was half wild with desire and lust now and clawed into his back, bit his lips, sucked his tongue then pleaded, "Please, Peter, now!"

"Now what?" he asked, breathing hotly into the hollow of her neck.

"Do it to me," she begged, grinding her hips in lewd invitation beneath him.

"Do what to you?" he teased, delighting in her agony.

"Take me, Peter, please darling." She implored, clasping his buttocks in her hands and trying to pull him into her.

"That's not what you mean, Marily. Say what you mean," he whispered moving gently and pressing his hardened penis into her stomach.

"Please! Please, Peter!"

"Say it, baby, just say it and its yours," he repeated, still pressing his hardened cock into her stomach, the secreting seminal fluid rubbing wetly into her flesh. "Ask me to fuck you."

"Oh, yes, please, Peter. Do it… please!" she moaned under him, moving, wanting him inside her more than she could ever have believed that she would want anything.

"Then ask me. Ask me to fuck you," he teased again, bearing down and flexing his hardness into her stomach.

"Fuc… do it… ah… fuck… fuck me, please, darling," she moaned rising to meet his every movement.

"Keep saying it, baby," Peter demanded, raising his hips slightly and moving down so that he was pressed tight between her open legs.

Marily groaned as she felt the huge head of his prick touch her soft eager cunt lips and tried to spread her thighs wider to suck it in to her but he cruelly pulled back. "Say it, Marily, beg me, baby."

"Fuck me! Please! Fuck… ahh…!" She felt the pulsating head sliding wetly into her cunt, barely, and again she tried to move up, to swallow it all the way in her but again he drew back, letting her have only what he wished her to have. She couldn't stand it. She had to have him in her, all the way, all at once!

"Fuck me!" she screamed, clawing at his back. She was awarded with more of him, but not enough. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK ME!" she pleaded until all of him was there, wedged into her, all of her filled and the bigness of the head of his prick pushed deep up in her burning belly.

She ground against him and came almost immediately, in sudden jolting explosions, her orgiastic secretions flowing out against him, bursting around the large pistoning head of his prick.

"Oooooh, mmmmm, aaaaaaah, darling, I'm… I'm cumming, God, I'm cummmmming," she groaned out her orgasm and then relaxed, exhaustion replacing the bursting dam inside her.

Her neighbor stilled his thrust and waited until he could feel the contracting walls of her cunt slowly throb to a halt and then began to move again, out, then slowly in, the sensations of his hard prick against the walls of her vagina slowly exciting her again, until suddenly she was responding once more, with him, her fingers dug into his buttocks, slamming him into her with all her might and slapping into the flesh of his stomach with her own.

She felt a change within him as she labored beneath him, a growing and quickened throbbing of his deep implanted prick and then her own feeling surged within herself. Peter took her legs in his arms and bent her knees back over her shoulders and her attention was arrested by their obscene reflection in the mirror.

She gasped at the pink flanges, the hair-lined tightness of the soft protective folds of flesh around her cunt, drawing back with each out stroke and being pushed in again as Peter thrust forward into her with the hammer-like rhythm he had begun.

She moved under him, wanting all of it deep within her, and gasped when he shoved further into her; she had thought that there was no greater depth of her than he had already reached. She watched his pistoning cock, sinking wet and glistening, deep into the tight, clasping lips of her pussy as often as she could, and clutched and screamed and cried under his power, and felt him impale her solidly, and he raised his head slightly and shoved into her and started short quick strokes that brought her to another climax along with him and he shrieked and she moaned and then he rested on top of her, his cock still imbedded within her, hard as ever, filling her, the hot juices spewed from it oozing out warmly and thickly against the walls of her vagina, squeezing over each ridge of her. She rubbed his back and fingered his hair and studied his muscular buttocks with her legs locked around them in the mirror. She had never felt so good in her life, she told herself, so she closed her eyes and enjoyed to the fullest her every adulterous sensation, her belly filled with the warm wet sperm of his satisfaction. She opened her eyes again and looked at him as he started to withdraw from her. He smiled into her face, then his prick slipped moistly out of her cunt with a wet, sucking sound and he raised himself slightly and placed it on her stomach and then lay on top of it, on top of her, and moved his hands under her head and kissed her gently, lazily, and rested his head alongside hers.

"Come to a party this week-end?" He asked quietly into her ear after the gasps of his orgasm had subsided.

"Fred will be out of town," she answered, just as contentedly as he had asked.

"Good. Then I'll have you all to myself. Just us." He put his hand on her breast and took her nipple between his thumb and index finger.

"What about your wife?" She asked hesitantly, her hand stroking his neck.

"She'll be there. But, don't worry about her. She's quite popular herself. She wanted Fred to be there, too, though."

"What?" Marily demanded, raising her head slightly. "Vivian knows Fred?"

"No, I don't think so. She's seen him though and wanted me to invite the two of you. She likes him."

"I don't understand," she stammered, "You mean that she… wants Fred?" Marily was confused. She had never thought about another woman lusting after Fred. It seemed impossible to her. Considering what a man Peter was and the fact that he was Vivian's husband made it absolutely ridiculous. She couldn't hold back a slight giggle at the thought.

"What are you laughing about?" Peter asked, studying her closely.

"Why, that's ludicrous. Really. I just can't imagine Fred doing anything like this…"

"Fucking?" Peter supplied the word.

"… Fucking with her. Or anyone, really. It's funny."

"Doesn't he fuck you?" Peter asked bluntly.

"Well… yes." Marily felt strange talking to him about she and Fred. "But not like this. I mean… well, differently."

"I didn't know there was any other way," Peter laughed and put his hand on the side of her soft white breast.

"He does it to me this way… but, well, not with the same feeling. He's very different than you, Peter. Much more conservative, I guess. He's quiet." She was unable to describe her husband, did not want to put it into words that sounded like betrayal to her, of just how and when they had sex relations.

"Do you love him, Marily?" Peter asked.

"Of course I do. Certainly." She answered, as much for her own benefit as for his.

"But he doesn't make you happy in bed." He put his hand over her mouth, and then continued. "Marily, you've been married two years and you have a bedroom with two beds in it. Now. I know that you must use one and he the other. Right?"

She moved her head up and down to indicate that he was right. "That doesn't take much figuring, baby. You're turned on to sex so apparently he isn't. But, we'll all work together and we'll fix everything up. You'll have to join the neighborhood club." He finished speaking, got off the bed and began dressing. He left without telling her anymore.

p(line).***

Later, she could have kicked herself for not asking Peter what he had meant by the neighborhood club, but she hadn't. She worried about it, thought about it, but couldn't think of anyway to contact him to find out. He hadn't told her that he would see her the next day or when he would tell her more about the party that she had decided to attend. She called herself a fool and let other worries take control of her mind.

She managed to find a safe hiding place for the gin and vermouth she had purchased for her and Peter before Fred arrived home, on the exact minute of the very hour that he had made it the day before and the day before that. She had washed the glasses they had used, made the bed, put the dressing table back into position, and sprayed all the rooms with Lysol spray, taking no chances on Fred smelling the faintest whiff of gin or cigarette smoke. She hadn't been able to bring herself to ask Peter not to smoke in her house. That would have taken too much explanation.

"Hello, darling," Fred said, walking through the door. He removed his hat, then sat his briefcase carefully on the floor. Marily went to him, stood on tip-toe and kissed him on the lips, slightly and momentarily. Nevertheless, it seemed to shake him up. He looked at her strangely, then walked past her to the bedroom. She could hear him making noises as he put his clothes away, carefully as always, and heard him grunt with pleasure to find his clothes for changing into where he expected them to be, but where they had not been yesterday. When he returned to the living room and sat in his chair and reached for the paper, Marily had his vegetable juice ready and announced proudly that dinner would be on time tonight, as usual.

"Good," he sighed, happy that his home had returned to normal. He rattled the paper.

Across the table from her, over the bowl of spinach souffle, the boiled Swiss chard and the tiny boiled onions, above the stone ground black bread and ginger root, Fred pronounced her name. "Marily, I have a surprise for you. You may go with me to Chicago if you wish. I think we can manage it."

Marily was startled. She wondered immediately it he had suspected something, had seen something in the house that she had failed to arrange before he got home that told him a man had been there. She looked at him, amazed, and couldn't answer what had almost amounted to a question on his part.

He didn't wait for her to answer, however, but continued, saying, "We could take the money out of the savings and you could get a small job that you could do in the house, while I'm away in the daytime, and put it back. I really don't want you to stay here alone, anyway. Particularly if you don't want to." He smiled at her.

"Oh, Fred, that wasn't me talking this morning, really. I don't mind staying here alone. After all, it's your job and I guess I was just a little jealous and you'll be working all the time and… no, no, I'd really just prefer to stay here." She knew that her face was red and wished to hell that it wasn't, hoped that he would not suspect her of anything. Now she wanted to go to the party that Peter had mentioned, though none of it would have happened if Fred had offered to take her yesterday, she had no intention of anything interfering with that wish.

Fred was easily put off. "I think that is the wisest choice, Marily. I mean we agreed never to touch our savings and all, but I worried about you all day and thought that I might be being a little selfish." Then I had that idea. "But, if you think it'll be all right maybe we should just leave it as it stands and I'll only be gone four days anyway."

"It's much better that way, Fred. Much. I'll be all right. Really. Maybe there'll be a party in the neighborhood or something one night." She stopped herself, afraid it might raise his suspicions.

"That would be nice. Darling, did you get my clothes packed today?" He asked, peering across the table at her.

"No, Fred, I didn't. You're not leaving until Friday morning and they'll be ready. Don't worry about it." She did not speak again during the meal, nor did he.