John made a lunge for the door but I blocked him. “Leave it,” I advised him. From within came a delighted female laugh which trailed off to a soft cry of delight.
“What is he doing to my wife!” John demanded in bewildered outrage.
“I would show you, but you are not interested.” I retorted in anger. The sounds from the bedroom were ramping up to shrieks and moans. The bitch was getting my share! “Come on downstairs, I need a drink.”
“I am not leaving them in there, doing… Doing that!”
“What you going to do, break the door down?” I challenged. To my alarm I saw he was considering exactly that. “Come away now, where you cannot hear them.”
“You!” He rounded on me. “That is your husband in there, tell him to come out!”
I thought about it. “No,” I decided. I could not take the risk he would refuse, where would that leave our relationship?
“You bitch!” He snarled at me. “You two, you are disgusting, you put this idea in her head!”
“Oh calm down, Vicar,” I sighed. “He is hardly forcing her, is he?”
But John’s face was contorted with rage, not helped by the loud creaking of the bed which had joined the vocal sounds, and I doubted it was caused by Jess playing trampoline again. He grabbed my wrist and pounded on the door with his other. “Come out, or your wife will get the same!”
Male and female laughter mocked him. “That was kind of the idea,” I reminded him pityingly.
He glared from the door to me, back again, then suddenly tightened his hold on my wrist and pulled me back to the spare bedroom, I made a show of struggling, but the excitement was flaring up, the night was getting interesting again!
The spare room was like a drum to the sounds of the abused bed next door and a duet of moans, the sounds fanned my own desires and I made no resistance when John shoved me to fall back on the bed, scrambled up onto me and pinned down my wrists. “Scream,” he hissed, his face against mine. “Scream loud!”
“Make me!” I challanged, gasping.
He let go my wrists, the buttons of my dress flew in all directions as he tore it apart, then strung the dress through the iron bedhead and lashed my wrists to it. Breathing hard he pulled down my bra and bit at my sensitive nipples. I obliged him then, genuinly screaming at the heady mix of pain and pleasure. The expensive panties were torn free and he fumbled with his trousers, I made a show of resisting, kicking him, he grabbed my ankles, pulled them up and wide and with a solid grunt bucked hard up into me.
I felt my eyes roll back as he jammed into me with brute force, determined and intentionally forcing his prick into my channel, tearing it open to receive him. His teeth bit at my nipples again and I twisted and howled in pure ecstasy.
He wanted screams and he got them, his hips bucked wildly, punching mine down into the mattress, when my nipples were numbed by bites he burned hickeys into my throat until I howled. Every time he came he pulled out of me to spray me with it, in my hair, my face, on my breasts and belly, then his fingers would plunge and ravage me until he was ready to ram his hardening prick back up into me. Each time I felt sure he was exhausted, lying on me, his breath on my abused nipples, muscles relaxing, the sounds next door would start up again, the energetic rythm of raw sex and the song of voices that accompanied it, and John would growl, lift himself up, and use his body to assault mine yet again.
At three in the morning it went quiet next door, the sounds of heavy sleep clear through the thin wall. John got off me, stood looking down at me, nodded at his handiwork and left without so much as a thank you or excuse me.
I heard his rap sharply on the master bedroom door and then his soft steps going down the stairs. After a pause Mike came in, blurry eyed, his chest and sides ripped open and bleeding, but not seeming to mind. He goggled at me, taking in the makeshift rope, the dried patches of cum everywhere, teeth marks on my breasts, throat and belly down to my thighs. “Good grief, Snoopy, you look like you went ten rounds with a leopard! You okay?”
“Fine,” I grinned lazilly, deliciously satisfied. “How was madam Butterfly?”
“Always the quiet ones,” he grinned. “And she is big on alternate means of entry, if you follow me!”
“I do,” I sniffed. “But don’t get any ideas on that score with me. What are you doing?”
“Untying you!”
I wriggled. “Leave it alone!”
He sat on the bed, trailing his fingers over me, bringing me back to the simmer. “You stink of cum,” he noted cheerfully.
“That bother you?”
His head went down between my legs, I drew up my knees and whined with pleasure. “Not a bit!”
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