She turned away, just preventing herself from dealing his front door a mighty kick. She was going to go back home, maybe call up her pink-haired girlfriend, but then she remembered that it was still a Friday night, after all. She made a quick check of the darkened houses and then detoured down the nearest drive, that of Number Six, that of Mr Show-Off and his dumpy mute of a wife. That one never missed a Girls’ Night, even if the chances of her contributing to it in any way were minimal. It was dangerous turning up without warning but Eva was feeling too annoyed by Hunter’s absence to care. She wasn’t even bothered if the wife did prove to be in. She would do the husband whilst the insipid, fat-bummed Bethan watched powerless from the sidelines.
That girl embodied everything that Eva disliked about young motherhood. She might have been pretty enough to fuck all day if pregnancies hadn’t doubled her weight. And she looked like the life had been sucked right out of her, like she was always staring death in the face even though she couldn’t be much out of her mid-twenties. She did little and said little. She lived entirely within a bubble of motherhood duty. There was nothing to her, no personality or spark. Fucking her would be pointless, like ravaging a sack of flour. She looked like she had never had an ounce of passion in her soul. She just drifted around, short and pointless, dragging her kids along to share the mediocrity of her dull life.
Her husband now grinned at Eva, opening the door wider to allow her entry. How he had got saddled with Bethan was anyone’s guess, although it might well have been him that made her what she was now. Who gave a shit? She was here for his cock, not to dissect the problems of his domestic life. He was wearing that self-satisfied sneer of his, the one that suggested he knew he was irresistible to her - which was actually rather wide of the mark. However, he was good-looking and she had to admire his arrogance, plus he could surprise her with his dirtiness when doing the deed.
He definitely thought he was God’s gift. The first time she had been with him he had been all alone in the house, and completely relaxed about the cheating he was soon to do. Before she was even down to her undies he was already naked, stood there with hands upon hips and erection poking out, ever so pleased with himself. Having had him strip off, she had to wait around while he put his watch on, and a thick gold chain, a pause for him to bling himself up suitably for what he thought would be a moment she would never forget. He really was a loud-mouthed, vain, vulgar bastard. How was his wife so inconsequential?
Sometimes they did it when the house was empty. In these instances he was prone to a bit more spontaneous kinkiness. He often shoved her knickers into her mouth, for instance. Over the stout kitchen table was a regular choice - him doing her fast and furious whilst pulling her head back by the hair. A couple of times he had unceremoniously filled her with yoghurt or cream straight from the fridge, just spooning it in as if that was the norm, before ramming himself home and going at her like he had only minutes left to live. She had quite liked the coldness at her hot insides, and really liked the nasty, loud squelch it had made as he pounded her. Another time he had reached for the butter dish and taken a lump, forcing it up into her bottom with his thumb without missing a stroke, for no other apparent reason except that it was there, and he could.
Whenever the kids were asleep upstairs he steered her into the lounge, where the formula was always the same. He would pull at her top to release her breasts, and then get her knickers off to gag her with. She would go face down upon the floor, a hastily grabbed cushion placed under her hips, just to raise her slightly. Then, with her prone, he would bury his face into her soft behind and lick her to readiness, although she was always ready before she had even stepped out of her front door. Then he would move up her back and thrust into her. He would fuck her like that, relentlessly humping her flat to the floor.
He always thrust at breakneck speed. That was his thing. Every time they did it the pace was the same: a rapid, flesh-slapping, pumping drive, always from behind. It started that way and finished that way, and each thrust was partnered by him gasping the word fuck! into her ear. He must have thought that the harder and faster you went the better. There was never any gentleness or attempts at finesse, no subtlety. It was like this was how he thought it was meant to be and no one had told him any different. No doubt he considered himself an expert.
He had been with his wife since their school days, so any other conquests had to have been extra-marital ones. Maybe he thought he deserved to branch out now, to spread his gift over a wider audience. If so, none of these affairs had taught him how to refine his technique. Certainly the porn films he watched gave him no other clues. Imagine how pissed off he would be to find out he wasn’t very good at it. He would probably do you even harder and faster, just to try and prove you wrong. Oddly his method was often just what Eva needed, hence the reason she went to his door, but poor Bethan - if this was all she ever got then no wonder she was a shell of a girl today.
Right enough, Eva found herself being steered into the lounge. He didn’t bother turning the football off the TV. Down went the cushion and up came her skirt. She hadn’t worn any underwear thinking it the best way to snare Hunter, so something else would have to be used if a gag was required. Normally she might have chided herself for failing to make it exactly how he would have wanted, but not tonight. Down on the floor she went and soon she was feeling the sweep of her shiver as the nose and tongue were pressed to her holes. She reached back to push his head harder into her. She should have hated his impersonal predictability, but actually she quite liked the artless quality of it all. It was like being a porn star for fifteen minutes.
He undoubtedly thought he was good enough to be paid for it, although presumably he was willing to waive his fee for a girl like her. Right from the very start he had wanted her and made it clear that he was willing if she was. It was him that had first given her the idea. Actually, to her mind, he was only the next best alternative, and he proved to be the second husband of the street to be seduced. Roni’s bum-mad husband had been her first target, along with his lush bespectacled missus, but initial feelers in this direction had suggested it wouldn’t be easy to achieve. Once she got her mind set on the idea of seducing her neighbours then she looked at almost every available opportunity to give it a try. Suddenly it became her thing.
One time, a surprise snatched moment with Nesta had seen them kissing briefly, only for the redhead to break free and claim that she could never be attracted to Eva. What exactly she meant by this was never ascertained, but it was a comment that burned and would not be forgotten. The most galling thing was that up-herself Nesta wasn’t even the neighbour she had set her mind on, but naive Roni seemed impervious to flirty talk and wouldn’t spot a come-on if it hit her full in the face. Anyway, two days later Eva seduced and fucked the first of her neighbours, luring them into her web on the pretence that her computer was playing up, mounting Nesta’s husband and riding him to a climax before he had a chance to turn the situation around.
It had been so easy when it came to it. As a front Eva had invited Nesta to accompany her husband, as if to bury the hatchet after the kissing incident, although the redhead had declined as expected. As the unsuspecting husband fiddled about with the settings on her computer, trying to fix a problem that never was, Eva the Siren stuck around as a welcome distraction, making small talk, knowing to chuck the killer line in out of the blue. Thus the conversation went something like this:
‘I don’t think my broadband is fast enough.’
‘Yeah, the service around here is pretty poor.’
‘Well I always need a good servicing, so why don’t you fuck me right now?’
‘I’m sorry? I don’t understand...’
‘Which part of “I want your hot, stiff cock inside me” don’t you get?’
She was already reaching down to clutch at his crotch at that point and he was already growing against her grasp. It didn’t take much to have t
he prick out and swelling to fullness in her palm, nor to lead him by it to the sofa so she could straddle him and pin him down. She enjoyed it most because she hadn’t even got naked. He was not bad looking but not quite up to her expected standard, so it was good not to have to give him the benefit of her nudity. She just slipped her knickers aside and slid down onto him.
To this day he was yet to see her privates. The most she had been down to was some skimpy lingerie. Of course, he said after that first time that it could never happen again, but that didn’t stop him being lured round barely a fortnight later. That time she hit him with the big guns, leaving a couple of stray sex toys lying around, including the very dildo and harness she calmly informed him she had used on her girlfriend that morning. He was always going to be easy meat after that. Once any man started to stiffen there was little chance of them stepping back from the edge, although exactly how she came to be wearing that same harnessed dildo over her jeans, slowly sliding in and out of his stuck-out, well-lubed arse, was now difficult to recall. She was sure it was all down to her suggestion but he certainly hadn’t argued.
Isn’t that just the joy of sex? So many individual foibles, so many things kept secret even from loved ones, until the right person wheedles it out of you. How was his dull wife to realise that this was the excitement he craved? How could he ever tell her such a thing? Well, tough on her because Eva had found the way to snare him and now he could not resist her, however heavy the guilt. Still he couldn’t resist having his rear end deeply plugged by a plastic toy, and his rigid prick jerked or subsequently sucked or ridden to a shattering, spattering climax. Fucking Mr Nesta’s backside; using a paddle upon it; having him crawl around the floor or suck upon her toes; generally treating him like a gutless, whimpering bitch. Imagine ramming all that down the redhead’s smug throat when the time came. That would teach that self-righteous, ginger-minged, cupboard-lesbo to turn down the sexiest, best-looking girl she would ever have the chance to get naked with.
The prick slid into her from above and she felt his chest against her back. Then the humping started, forcing her into the cushion to at least provide some friction, although she wasn’t looking for a climax here. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, he went in her ear, like a vocal metronome for his prick. Her arsed slapped noisily and she smiled. It felt rushed and dirty. She felt slick and he felt big. In and out of her he would go like this until he was pissing sweat and it was dripping down onto her back. He had been her second seduction of the street, because he was just so easy. He would always believe he was the first. They all believed they were the first and only.
After him it was the Italian, another who needed minimal encouragement. Then Roni’s husband finally succumbed, although she had to take the desperate measure of bending over to show him her bare arse to finally break him down, and then suggesting that same arse took his lovely erection. He might have resisted if not for this. Sad for his otherwise gorgeous missus to have such a little, flesh-free bottom. It filled Eva with glee to be able to triumph over a wife as peachy as his, to know without doubt that you were sexier. She could always find their weak spots - the secret things they wanted to do but couldn’t or wouldn’t get at home. Over the months she learned when each was available and how to give and take exactly what she wanted. They might see her every week or not for over a month, but each time they knew they were blessed. The policeman was the last, as easy as pie despite the fact he would have hospitalised his wife if she ever even dreamed of cheating on him.
Only Alicia’s husband remained, and that was down to choice on Eva’s part. He was a bit of a nerd and one had to draw the line somewhere, although still she was inclined to go ahead and do it anyway, just to complete the set, and just for the fucking spite of it. He was a nice guy but maybe a bit too square for her. He had big feet though - like planks they were - and you know what they say about men with big feet. That would be how she would do it, if the time ever came. ‘I reckon you have the biggest cock in the street,’ she would whisper to him, running her fingers with their painted nails over his crotch. How long would his resistance last? Seconds at best. But he would have to wait because Hunter was her next target and none of them mattered now he was here.
The hammering prick was finding real depth and her rump was jiggling lewdly from the weight of his thrusts. She always got so wet; copious juices to match her ever seething desire for rudeness. She could feel the spatter down her thighs on each ramming in-stroke, painting her skin. Perhaps she should ask Hunter to paint her - not on canvas but on her skin, the fine brush hairs travelling all over her body before he simply had to grab her and take her. She had thought about seducing him in a similar manner, of painting herself in black liquid latex and arriving at his front door like this. At first glance it would seem like some gossamer-thin catsuit, until she sat on the sofa and spread her legs and slid her fingers into her open wetness for his delectation. If a pretty girl masturbates for you without being prompted, you aren’t going to be able to resist her for long.
The f-word was no more than a breath in her ear now and she could feel the droplets of his perspiration on her neck and cheek. Imagine how much more refined Hunter would be. He would know every trick in the book. He might even be as good as a woman at it. She might even be made to come by him. She wondered what his “thing” would be, his kink. Spanking, probably. A man like him - quiet, observant, slightly stern, massively assured and with such a presence - he would want to dominate. And she would allow it, even though she normally always called the shots. She would take the sting to her bare flesh from his palm, from the paddle she used on Nesta’s sissy husband, maybe even from a cane. She would take the humiliation of being tied and pinched and bitten, take the burn of the melted wax or the alarming cold fizz of champagne inside her. She would happily take all this because it got him right where she wanted him: with her, both naked and bursting with filthy lust.
She would discover his thing and cater for it, just like she always did, because she knew it made them want her more than any other, because it made her the best. The more she did it, the more she would enjoy it. She would feed off their addiction for her and it would feed her addiction for nasty, messy, hopefully heart-breaking, relationship-threatening sex. She simply couldn’t help herself. That’s why she still fucked the butch dyke at the biker club and seduced the sexy hairdresser minx who waxed her cunt for her, even though the pink-haired girlfriend was much sweeter and prettier and so wanted to be her only lover. She just had to scatter hearts, to lay waste to emotions and yearnings. She needed always to know that no one could live without her, and it didn’t matter what or who burned in the process.
She would conquer Hunter even though he was single and there was a threat he might end up controlling her, taking over her life. But he was too good not to have and the more he hadn’t fucked her, the more affronted her ego became. She would do it just because she could see that all the other girls in her street wanted him madly, but they couldn’t have him. The prick inside her swelled rigid and then she could feel the hot bursts of his semen. Still he kept going. That was his one talent: to carry on thrusting through the rip of his climax. If ever he did her missionary he was almost assured to make her come, but fortunately he always found her behind too scrumptious to ignore. She left him immediately, without even caring that his mess might begin to slide down her bare thighs as she walked home. Hunter’s house looked the same as before, all quiet and just the one light on. You can’t hide from me forever, she mused.
Light Shower
The rain was thin and fast, increasing in pace and wetness by the second. It drove Bethan away from the recreation ground back towards home, dragging her youngest, who seemed oblivious to the impending saturation. It was an unpredicted shower, probably set to stop the moment she stepped back through her front door, although she wasn’t going to stand around waiting to find out. Sure enough, when she was sipping her tea whilst her daughter did her
best to cover every inch of lounge carpet with some kind of noise-making toy, cuddly animal, and cardboard-paged book, the sun was already dazzling the shallow puddles on the tarmac outside.
Only she could see what he really was. Into the wine bar he had breezed, right into their midst, but none of them had read the signs. There are all manner of fanciful notions about spotting the ones like him but none of these were true. The real give-aways are far more subtle. First, he knew they were watching him when his back was turned. Vampires always do. They are able to detect the slightest glance and in those first few fractions when the eyes meet they know exactly what is on your mind. They also had the power to hold your gaze and keep you there, if you weren’t quick enough to look away in the first instance. That is why she was so careful not to give herself away, although still he caught her eye a couple of times. If she could study him better she would note the most obvious physical sign: the thin dark ring around the iris.
She could see his nails were clearer than most, and with a slight glossy sheen. Some would argue this was due to professional manicuring, which would not be improbable in a man who seemed to take such care to look good. However, you had to weigh it up with all the other evidence. She knew the clearness gave away the fresh, super-accelerated growth. They were coverings for the ones that lay beneath, the long yellow-brown talons that sprang forward through the flesh when the victim was close. Then there was the slightly shallow breathing, which was almost imperceptible unless you studied the rise and fall carefully. He would every now and then have a sharp intake, seemingly involuntary. It was due to the excitement of being so near to prey. It was something his type could not disguise. Maybe he could even smell blood from one of them.
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