THE NEW NEIGHBORS part 1
My husband exhales a loud sigh of disgust.
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"They're at it again," he said with sickening groan in his voice.
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It was getting more rapid and rhythmic now.
"Yes, I hear it," I answer him.
"Doesn't it bother you at all?" he asked when he did not hear the proper tone of corresponding disgust in my voice.
"It's natural," I said after a momentary silence as I considered my answer. Nothing was going to satisfy him if it didn't match his own view.
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Quicker. The bedposts were pounding on the opposite side of the wall like jungle d**gs beating out a coded message. To my husband it could have been the undying heart from Poe's The Tell Tale Heart drumming a message of guilt and shame. To me it was beautiful.
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I roll over onto my side away from my husband.I cannot see his face behind the newspaper but I can image the expression as being pinched and reddening. I don't want him to see any sort of suspicious movement under the bedsheets as I quietly slip my hand inside my pajama pants and make a nervous path bwteen my legs. I try to shut out the sound of him angrily snapping the paper and the chorus of sighs and groans that were saturated with hostility towards a new neihbors and their healthy sexual activity.
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Onward and onward. The stamina of both is staggering. I try to think when they last time we made love with such passion, but I quickly stop this line of inquiry because it makes me sad. I rub my swollen clitoris in time with the continuing drum beats. Momentarily it would pause, my husband was given a sense of false hope that it was finished, but punched the mattress when it resumed.
"a****ls....just a****ls," he'd say like a mantra and tried to distract himself with the latest sports scores.
I made the dreadful mistake of touching him in a sexual manner while the drum beats went on. I reached over and reached inside of his boxer shorts and found his penis. It was in a state of semi erection which he resent by his reaction of launching himself out of bed. A mment later I could hear the faint sounds of the television coming from the other room.
More sad thoughts intruding on the moment. I banish them from my mind and I think about the couple next door and the passion I longed for. I love my husband and have enjoyed sex earlier in our marriage. He has a lovely cock that slight arches upward and rubbed my pussy in the most appealing manner.
I met the new neighbor down the laundry room a couple weeks ago. She is a taller, slender, and athletic woman whom I estimated to be in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. She had very short hair that was white as snow but her face (aside from a few wrinkles) had a wonderful youthful quality to it. When I met her companion I was somewhat shocked. He was considerably younger than her and I figured his age to be in his mid to late twenties. He was tall (not as tall as her) with pale blue eyes and sandy blond hair that fell down around his broad shoulders. He came down to the laudry room to help with the basket of clothes.
"Is this your son?" I awkwardly asked.
They both simultaneously chuckled and looked fondly at one another.
"We get that all the time," said the woman, who's name is Charlotte. Her young companion was Luke.
It seemed rude to press for any more information and the conversation was directed into a more mundane route for the moment. I could not help but admire them and in my mind's eye seeing these two slim bodies tangled together in bed. I image them alternating positions---something my husband never enjoyed and so our sex life took on an adroit and mechanical quality. For a while the passion lingered but as the years wore on that seemed to faded away. He rolled over and fucked me when he was inclined. There was little (if any) foreplay at all. If he fingered my pussy it was just get it appropriately wet before sticking his cock in.
I made a glance down at my watch but it was really to steal a glimpse over at Luke. That day in the laundry room he was wearing grey sweat pants that fit quite snuggly and offered a very well defined outline of his cock. He was exceptionally well endoed to say the least, but I am afraid I was now staring at him. The ride up in the elevator to our floor was awkwardly silent. I could see the look in their eyes that they were very much in love.
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It was a struggle to conceal any sounds as I resumed fingering my poor neglected pussy. It must have felt somewhat orphaned as of late. Why isn't she visited more often? What did I do wrong? Silly thoughts swirl round in my head now as I insert more fingers.
When my husnad gets up out of bed and heads towards the direction of the bathroom I seize the opportunity to let out a few little sighs and pump my hips into my buried fingers. I wish the walls were thin enough for me to hear their mingled moans.
"Oh, shit," I cry out softly as my orgasm comes racing up like wellspring burst through barren landscape.
"Did you say something?" my husband called out from the other room.
"No...no, nothing," I say as I withdraw my fingers and dart into the bathroom to clean myself up before he suspects anything.
When I return the room is silent.
"They've stopped at last,' my husband said joyfully.
I just nodded my head and slip under the bedcovers. The scent of my orgasm is still very redolent. How does not smell this? He turns off the lamp on his side and rolls over, quickly asl**p and snoring softly.
I sit there in the dark for a long while thinking about Charlotte and Luke and become more intruiged by their lives. Perhaps even obsessed as the days wore on and I became closer with them.
In the dark I began to seriously question my love for my husband and the health of our marriage. I desired more than an occasional poke that satisied one one half of the marriage. The only time I came was when I masturbated, and I was doing this now more frequently than when I was a teenager. This is not good.
LUKE I WANT THAT MONSTROUS COCK BURIED IN MY PUSSY, I scream out in my mind.
I sl**p and I dream.