Fantasy Fulfillment: The Neighbours

The air in our neighbourhood always felt a little too still, like a held breath. It was the kind of place where the click of a garden gate echoed for three houses in either direction, and the twitch of a lace curtain was the only sign of life.

I hated it. I hated the feeling of being watched, the way the sun seemed to hit certain windows like a spotlight, and especially the way my skin prickled whenever I stepped onto my back porch.

It wasn't just the proximity, it was the silence. The houses were spaced out, with massive backyards that you could easily build a second house in. But the residents, most of whom were much older than me, valued their peace and complained when your TV volume was just a little too loud. It was so quiet that you could hear your neighbour whistling in their yard, that a dog barking meant a visit from the police.

Yeah, exactly. Ridiculous.

Secrets weren't protected for long. They were passed onto the next person before your banana bread had cooled on the counter, and suddenly the whole neighbourhood knew that Mrs. Lewis had been a showgirl in her past. Hell, you couldn't even hang laundry without feeling like you were performing a private show for an invisible audience. And in this theater of the ordinary, everyone had their role--the nosy gossips, the casserole women, the leering pervs, the grumbling grouches, and the girl just trying to secure her Master's.

Then there were the Penns. They didn't just live next door; they loomed. They were the dark spot on an otherwise manicured map, a gravitational pull that I spent every waking hour trying to resist. I bet you're wondering what reason I had to avoid my neighbours, other than getting roped into a neverending conversation about the importance of varnish?

Well... Once, I'd been sunbathing in the backyard when I heard what sounded like a moan. I'd ignored it at first, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me. Like I said, this wasn't the kind of neighbourhood where people celebrated noise, and I knew any carnal activities were strictly confined to the bedroom. But then I heard something else. A grunt, followed by the loud, wet smack of skin on skin. I knew immediately what I was hearing and from the sound of things, someone was getting pounded rough and fast. The moans that followed confirmed my suspicions and I couldn't have stayed on that lounging chair even if I wanted to. I had carefully eased myself off the seat and crawled over to the fence between this yard and that of the Penns'.

Andfuck...

What I saw sparked something inside me that I knew I'd never be able to completely ignore. My eyes widened and my hands gripped that wooden fence for all it was worth. For the first time in my life, I saw a built, brawny middle-aged man fucking his wife with so much passion that it made me ache. He was fucking her hard and rough, seemingly desperate to drive his cock deep into her cunt, hungry for her orgasm. She'd moved just as urgently, fucking back on her husband's cock like it was her favourite fucking thing in the world.

I'd watched their faces, twisting with obvious ecstasy, a synchronized motion so well concerted that it had to come from years of fucking each other just like this. It was Mr. Penn who saw me first, his gaze darkening as if his focus had shifted from his wife and was now locked squarely on me. I should've stopped gawking immediately, then run into the house to wash my eyes. Instead, I was frozen to the spot, an uninvited voyeur who couldn't look away from her older neighbours as they banged into each other.. Having my eyes on them seemed to spur Mr. Penn on, because suddenly, he was fucking her so much harder and gripping her hair to pull her head just far enough that she could see me too.

I expected her to shriek, to cover up her bare breasts with the dress hanging around her waist, but her eyes glazed over with lust and she smirked at me. She watched me watch her getting dicked the fuck out, moaning even louder. I felt like I was participating in a sense, since my presence there seemed to turn them on, encouraged them to fuck harder and faster and louder. I wasn't unaffected either. Because I'd been avoiding tan lines, I was naked behind the fence. They didn't know, but they could probably guess. Could they tell that my thighs were clenched together, that I was so turned on from watching them that my thighs were damp?

My nails scraped against the wood as Mrs. Penn shuddered against her husband, coming hard before he grunted his release. Only then did I pull away, my eyes wide with shock and my body humming with anticipation. Mr. Penn pulled out of her cunt with some difficulty, his cock glistening from his wife's orgasm and still impossibly hard. I stared at its girth, imagining what it would feel like to get stretched apart by it. My mouth salivated and I licked my lips, my gaze lifting to meet their smug faces.

I finally let go of the fence and ran inside. I slammed the door shut and locked it, trying to keep their debauchery away from my private space. But it was too late. I'd been exposed.

I'll admit that I'd touched myself to the memory several times, that I'd watched them a few more times since then and even fingered my pussy to an orgasm once. I wondered what it felt like to get fucked like that, what the man rutting into you must feel for him to lose control and hammer into you as if yours were the only pussy in the world he ever wanted to fuck.

After they caught me watching, I avoided them at all times. It wasn't easy since I wasn't just visiting my aunt this time. I was here to stay, having scored a really great gig with an architect firm a few minutes away. It was a permanent post, with the option to study further as long as I stayed to pay off the tuition fees. So, I was going to be here for a while. I'd just have to try my best to avoid them.

A task I failed at monumentally just a few weeks after that first peeping-Tom incident. The university I was pursuing my Master's with had sent my textbooks by courier. They had a ridiculous policy about 'secure delivery' for their pricey resources. So, they'd been "forced" to drop my package off with my neighbour, Mr. William Penn.

I needed the books. I was already a week behind the others and had to make up for lost time very quickly if I hoped to complete the essay due in a month. So, I was forced to swallow my pride and shame, and march on over to the adjoining fence between the two properties. Fortunately for me, Mr. Penn was exactly where I'd hoped he'd be at four in the afternoon. He was out tending the garden, his upper body bare above a pair of old jeans. I could see the still-hard muscles of his back flexing as he worked, his skin a brilliant tan under the sun.

I sighed softly and cleared my throat. "Hi there, Mr. Penn."

He turned his head, his dark gaze sweeping along the fence until he saw me. The eyes turned almost black and then narrowed suspiciously. "Yes?"

His voice was exactly what I'd expected. Gravelly, rough and deep, like he didn't use it often. I nearly buckled at his curt response, but I reminded myself what was at stake and powered through.

"A package was delivered this afternoon for me. You wouldn't know what happened to it, would you?"

His gaze lingered on my face for a long time before he nodded. "They dropped it off with me since you were out gallivanting all over town. You can come over and get it."

I had no idea why his words sent a frisson of heat through me, but I took an involuntary step back and swallowed. Even if I were to go over there, it was almost dark and everyone would be settling in for the night. If one of the other neighbours saw me going in, they'd probably gossip about it for weeks, and call me a whore for months.

"Can I pick it up tomorrow afternoon? I don't want to impose on yours and Mrs. Penn's time."

"I don't want your shit in my house longer than it has to be. You'll either get it now or I'll throw it in the trash tomorrow morning," he grunted.

With that, he turned and left, clearly done with the conversation. I knew he wanted me to follow him into the house, but I was suddenly a ball of nerves and very uncertain of myself. I stared at his back, stunned into silence with my mouth agape. After a long, tense moment, I approached the small wooden fence between our properties, unhooked the latch and pushed it open.

My palms tingled with awareness, my scalp itchy with tension and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Every instinct in me told me to turn back and run, to rather wait until Mrs. Penn had returned before I went to collect my package.

But -- and I hated to admit this -- I was also warm all over, my body humming with an anticipation my brain wasn't quite able to fully process. It seemed that my mind and my body were on completely different wavelengths.

I followed Mr. Penn through the backyard. His lawn was immaculately cut, his bushes neatly trimmed and the blooms were welcome bursts of colour in the green backdrop. The paint on the walls was fresh, his roof and patio recently redone. Mr. Penn, despite the dark air around him, took pride in his home. It must have taken him a very long time to get it all done, but it was worth it. The house looked amazing.

Mr. Penn disappeared into the house and I slowly, carefully, followed him into the kitchen. It was just as spectacular, if not more so, than the outside. Marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, cabinets that were made of a smooth pine, all of which invited lengthy cooking sessions. I was both envious and amazed, which made me gawk at every detail like an idiot who'd never seen nice shit before.

"You gonna stand there all day gawking at my house or are you gonna take your shit?" he growled, pointing at the medium-sized box on the other side of the kitchen, conveniently placed on the counter. He stood to the left, near the stove. I could either walk past him, which was the shorter route, or go all the way around the other side. Either way, I would have to get it myself and he would be standing between me and the door.

But no, he wouldn't trap me in here. He wasn't going to do anything, in relatively broad daylight. Especially when his wife would be home soon. So, summoning up a bit of courage, I brushed past him, catching a whiff of freshly-cut grass, sweat and sandalwood. My bare arm brushed against his hairy forearm and my entire right side burned with awareness. I turned my back on him for a second and a half, hoping he wouldn't notice the blush on my cheeks. I glanced at the waybill and confirmed that it was indeed my package. I lifted it off the counter and turned to thank him. Except, he wasn't where I'd left him.

He was already near the door, his back turned, the muscles rippling as he lifted his massive arm to the knob. He closed it, and locked it with a resounding click. He'd just blocked off an exit, making his intentions abundantly clear. A part of me was shocked that he would risk getting caught by his wife and the other part was thinking--Fuck.I told you not to get in this fucking house. But another, very small part, was curious to see how this would play out.

"Mr. Penn?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking advantage of the situation," he said, putting his tools down and removing his gardening gloves. He dumped them on the kitchen counter and slowly approached me, his stride confident. His expression was blank, devoid of all emotion. But his eyes glinted with a hunger that shook me to my core.

"What are you talking about? Please don't--"

He reached for me, grabbed my arm and pulled me close. I gasped and tried to step away, my body rigid in his arms. "Do not touch me! Or I'll kick your ass."

The words came out with enough confidence that I almost believed them, but we both knew I was bluffing. He was nearly fifty and had a bit of a belly, but the work he did kept him in good shape and reassured me that those muscles weren't just for show. In response to my threat, Mr. Penn wrapped a beefy hand around my neck and slammed me against the fridge. I gasped, shocked that he would use that much force when I was a quarter of his size and just five feet eight. He towered over me, so fucking big that I couldn't see around him when he stood this close.

"What was that you were saying just now, girl?"

My gaze darted over him, alarmed into silence for a moment. A part of me warned that if I tried to attack him, it wouldn't go so well for me. He'd retaliate and likely push things further than I'd want them to go, but if I didn't fight, then I was proving to him, and myself, that I wanted this. Never mind that his proximity raised my pulse and the scent of manly musk had my pussy fluttering, I just wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing what an easy fuck I was. The hand around my neck wasn't working in my favour either, because I loved being choked. He couldn't have known that I'd like it, so the move probably just came naturally to him.

"How dare you? If you don't let me go right now, I'm calling--"

He reached for the neckline of my t-shirt with both hands and tore in down the middle with two violent attempts. The fabric gave away to reveal my bare tits, sweaty from my earlier errand-run. Before I could speak, his hand cupped my left breast and squeezed it so hard that it shut me up. I instinctively tried to cover the mound with my arm, looking up at him with disbelief. "What are you doing? Don't touch me like that!"

He swatted my arm down, squeezed down harder and then cupped my jaw so I was forced to look at him. It hurt and I wanted to cry. I struggled, limbs useless against his strength and I fought to hide my tears by forcing a scowl.

"Stop it! Stop--"

He slapped my face next. Hard enough to cut me off, hard enough that it stung, but not quite so hard that it felt violent or hateful. A warning, or maybe even a reprimand. I opened my mouth to argue, but his large callused hand wrapped around my neck again. He squeezed and pushed up, so he was choking me a little and lifting me. I gasped, breathless.

"I've been dreaming of this day," he confessed, his gaze sweeping slowly over my face, dark and hungry. "The things I'm going to do to you, sweetheart, you'll never forget."

When he said it like that, his voice low and rough and deep, I believed him. Not just that, but I felt a tingle rush down my spine and spark heat in my core. I licked my lips, my tongue dry from how nervous I was, and asked the question that sealed my fate. "W-What... What are you going to do to me?"

He grinned, the gesture devious and full of depraved intent. "I'm going to fuck your mouth. Then I'm going to fuck your pussy in all the dirty, nasty ways I've imagined doing since I first saw you three years ago. I'm going to fill you up with so much cum that it'll be trickling out of you for days."

My breathing had grown shallow, my chest rising and falling quickly. From fear, surely, because I wasn't excited by the prospect of being fucked like that, by a man who made my skin crawl from his creepy behaviour...Right?

"And don't think I didn't see you watching last time, your hand buried in these fucking shorts you're always prancing around in. Fucking whore."

Shame burned my face, turning my face a peachy crimson. Wispy, blonde curls fell over my forehead, loosening from the high bun I wore. I didn't say anything in response, the realisation that he'd seen me stunning me into silence.

"Now, are you going to be a proper little slut, or do I have tomake you?"

With him crushing my throat, I could barely breathe, never mind swallow. So I responded the only way that I could.

I spat in his face.

He slowly reached his hand up to wipe off the giant glob I'd managed to spit on his cheek. He wiped it off, turning away a bit to look at his hand. He rubbed the saliva between his thumb and fingers, staring at the moisture for a long spell. Finally, he grunted and looked back at me. With an evil glint in his eye, he spread his hand and smeared the saliva all over my face. I tried to dodge his hand, but it stayed the course. When he'd proceeded to rub it into my skin, pushing the stray curls off my face and staring down at me, I swallowed and tried to shrink back.

"You should save all of this saliva, girl. You're going to need it if you don't want your throat to chafe from the fucking it's about to get."

That was all the warning I received before Mr. Penn released my throat and put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me onto my knees. I crashed to the wooden floor, my knees singing from the impact. His thick fingers wove into my hair, tightening until he had a large fistful of my blonde locks in his grasp. He tilted my head back, my gaze roaming over his frame, noting the slight swell of his belly above the waistband of his jeans, the hair dusting his thick arms and the breadth of his chest. His beard, a blend of brown and silver, covered his chin and half his cheeks. The hair on his face couldn't hide the fullness of his lips, the strong curve of his jaw. His cheekbones almost made him look cruel and mean, but he was an okay-looking fucker. I understood what Mrs. Penn saw in him, other than the massive size of his body and cock.

I was so distracted assessing his looks, that I barely noticed him unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zip. My gaze lowered when his cock peeked out from the elasticated waistband of his boxers, smacking me in the face. A heavy, thick and long thing, his cock was. I blinked at it, surprised that a man like him would be so blessed in this particular department. His was a cock that most people dreamed of, either owning one or having it stuffed inside them. I was captivated, staring at it for the length of time it took him to lower his jeans and boxers enough to reveal a set of heavy, hairy balls.

It was better up close, the balls larger. The head was wide enough that I'd have to open my mouth wide to take it in. The rest wasn't any thinner, but that mushroom head would be the reason I choked to death. Still...

"You want it, don't you?"

I looked up at him, his arrogance bringing me back to reality. I snapped out of my trance and pushed against his thighs, trying to get his cock out of my face. Mr. Penn held firm, twisting his grasp until I cried out from the pain.

"You don't have to pretend, girl. I've seen you looking at it. You want my cock. Now, open wide so I can fuck that pretty mouth."

He caught my chin in his free hand, digging the digits of his thumb and middle finger into each cheek. He slowly, firmly pried my jaw apart -- despite my groans of protest -- and managed to get his fingers between my rows of teeth. My mouth salivated. I tried to swallow it all back, but I couldn't get my mouth shut. Mr. Penn smirked, the purple head of his cock teasing my lips, tracing the outline. He thrust his hips into my face, his balls slapping against my chin and the girth smacking my forehead.

"It's going in your mouth, sooner or later. If I have to tell you again to open wide, I won't be gentle with you, girl."

And give him the satisfaction? I couldn't.

I frowned and pushed against his thighs again. I tried to unfold my legs to stand, but his grip on my hair tightened, bringing with it a searing pain and a shock to my system. I fell back onto my haunches with a huff, my mouth widening in a silent scream.

He seized that moment to hold my mouth open. It hurt to fight him. It hurt so much that I gave up with a final cry, loosening my jaw enough to let him feed his cock into my mouth. I held onto his bare thighs as he thrust his length deeper into my mouth, my nails digging into his skin.

"Fuck, that feels good. Glad you took my advice," he growled, pushing forward.

I gagged, my eyes squeezing shut as more of Mr. Penn's thick cock was forced into my throat. I tried to push him back, out of my mouth, but he held my hair in a vice-like grip and absolutely refused to let go. No matter how many times I struggled, fought or pleaded. If anything, I think my reluctance made this even better for him.