The House Next Door (Wicked Wednesday)

Almost every flat I’ve ever lived in has had thin walls and noisy neighbours. I once shared a adjoining wall with a couple who would have loud arguments each night at 11pm, soon to be followed by even louder (make up?) sex.
Once I heard the male of the couple shout ‘perineum’ mid argument. The rest of the sentence is long gone but this one word remains lodged in my psyche and no amount of mind bleach can remove it.
This story is about much nicer neighbours.

Eavesdropper

The house next door had been a mystery since the day she’d moved in. In a long street where the large semi-detached homes had been long since sliced into smaller and smaller flats for the young professional masses, the dirty white building had one letterbox, and a solitary intercom button.

Of course it could just have been a family home; but there never seemed to be anyone around, adult, child or otherwise. In fact for the entirety of her first two weeks, the building remained in resolute darkness and she began to assume it was just an empty building, derelict, neither bought nor sold.

The next Saturday night, she was settling into bed with pages of bookmarked articles to read and half a bottle of house-warming Prosecco to keep her company, when she heard it. The familiar, satisfying thud of a bedhead smacking against a wall.

She blushed, then laughed.

“Good for them.” she thought, tipping an imaginary cap to whoever was getting down and dirty in the room next to hers and pouring another slug of wine into her glass.

The noise continued, quickening. She caught the sound of a woman laughing, moaning, and a man doing likewise. And another, deeper male voice that was gruff. She felt a slight twitch in her cunt as it dawned on her there was more than a pair of lovers in the room beyond the brickwork.

Embarrassed again she tried to settle into HuffPo’s weekly end of the world digest but she couldn’t ignore the thump-moan-thud-squeal filling her ears.

If she lost concentration for more than a second of two she began imagining the scene playing out. A delicate, chubby girl, wickedly beautiful like a debauched fairy being shuttled between two men, with others watching as she was used for pleasure and filled full of come. She could see the mess trickling down between the woman’s thighs and out of her mouth as she rolled over and the next man buried his face between her thighs to clean her.

Ultimately unable to clear her mind of this scene, our prim, confused and not a little aroused heroine had no option but to decamp to the living room and spend the night on the sofa, wrestling with the bedclothes.

Silence resumed for the rest of the weekend.

At first she didn’t notice that the next time it happened was exactly a month later. The third Saturday of the month.

Arriving home after a late night she fell in a wobbly fashion across the bed and heard giggling. Women’s giggling. Three or more? She shuffled closer to the wall and pressed her ear against the plasterwork, the noise suddenly far louder than she’d expected as she was confronted by waves of delectable moans and giggles and muffled words that might have been “fuck” repeated over and over.

This time she had no defence against the fantasy, succumbing to the vision as she deciphered the high pitched squeals as a bound girl receiving punishments, lashes against her cunt and breasts and brought to orgasm over and over and over again. She pictured the same woman she had done the night before. A voluptuous pixie with a wicked smile.

One of the voices grew suddenly muffled and this she knew meant there was now someone sat atop the captive’s face, making that beautiful face useful.

She couldn’t help herself and heaved her beer-fuelled body upright, reaching under her pillow for her vibe and bracing herself against the wall as she pressed it to her pubic mound and listened intently. She ground her cunt harder and harder, mimicking the tempo of the voices beyond the wall, fantasising about how she’d use the pretty girl’s tongue on her clit, instructing her exactly how to make her come, and as they grew louder and more urgent so did she, until she came, falling onto the pillows and muttering fuck over and over.

“Hello?” came a not-so-muffled voice from somewhere near her forehead. Soft and inviting.

She had been louder than she thought.

As she tried to control her breathing, the voice came again, like a spell; like music.

“Sounds like you were having a nice time. We’re having a nice time too. Maybe we could have a nice time together some time soon?”

She slept on the sofa again.

 Check out the other scintillating Wicked Wednesday entries below!

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

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