Temptation Close

by Scarlett Rush

  Here the touch-paper was yet to be lit, and she wondered what she could do to ensure it happened. It would be a hell of a battle. The Italian was lithe and muscular. He would be quick and dirty: butting, eye-gouging and kicking, anything to inflict swift harm. It was hard to gauge Hunter’s abilities. Sure he looked like he might be mean, like a Clint Eastwood cowboy character, whose deadly abilities are never fully made apparent until he was finally goaded into action. He would neither be a vicious street-fighter nor a stand up boxer. There was the army training, so maybe he’d be some kind of martial artist. He would be the one to know of incapacitating grips or single killer blows. There was the age though. That had to count against him. The image she had of him would certainly be ruined if he got the sheet kicked out of him and she didn’t want that. However, the thrill of seeing the fight outweighed the consequences.

  The beauty was that Hunter had to defend himself against the spurious allegations. As the Italian gabbled on it became clear his argument was based on nothing more than a brief interchange between the two accused parties, almost certainly instigated by the wife. He was nothing but a drunken, jealous, absurd husband. The neighbours were trying to calm him and hold him back but he was just snarling and swearing now. Surely Hunter would have to react to that kind of nonsense. If he didn’t then he would look weak. Then suddenly he was doing exactly that. He still wasn’t looking perturbed but had made no effort to arrest his movement towards his house. He hadn’t turned to square up and face his accuser as Eva thought he must. He was calmly assuring the foul-mouthed husband that there had been no attempt at disrespect, and apologising if any offence had been given, even though all the offence was coming from the other side.

  For all the promise, it wasn’t going to happen. Eva felt robbed by the chicken-shit Hunter. She realised the image she had of him was just that: an unsubstantiated collection of thoughts built up in her own mind, based upon her interpretation of his appearance and not, as it now transpired, through his actual actions. He was disappearing into the shadows at the side of his house, melting away from the danger. The Italian was scoring points even now, being dragged away by Nesta’s husband whilst telling anyone who would listen that he would teach the neighbour some respect. They were trying to calm him but she wanted him raging.

  They went their separate ways, dividing up to head indoors. Eva went towards her side entrance and then stopped, watching as always for the spread of light from inside each house to flood out onto the doorstep and then disappear again, indicating that the coast was clear. She darted back towards his drive. He was flat to the wall in the near blackness, masked from the street lamps, the only light coming from the moon. His face was still set in a victory snarl. Her skirt was already hiked up in readiness. Now there was just the still calm of the night and the extra frisson that noise and the threat of discovery brought. They knew that if the light went on in the window above them it would be the upstairs hall, and Maria would only have to flick apart the blinds to see them together below. Still this did not stop them.

  His hands were already grasping her bare behind, lifting her. She felt him at her wetness like a hot poker in the chill air, and then she was sinking down upon it. She gasped and sent fine vapour into his face. She almost felt like kissing him but resisted the urge by squashing her hot mouth to his neck, almost ready to sink her teeth into his flesh. It put her ear close to his lips, so he need only whisper his crudeness for her to hear it. She found the ridge of slanted bricks that ran a foot up along the house wall, which she could rest her toes upon, letting her take a good proportion of her own weight and thus free up his movements. He began to fuck her, to bend his knees and thrust upwards to hump and stuff her. It was not the most effective method, but anything for her right now was good.

  She was a cock-sucker and a pig of a whore. She was mostly things in unintelligible Italian but that didn’t bother her because she could tell by the way his prick pulsed inside her that he was calling her the filthiest names he could think of. All this breathed warm in her ear whilst his rigid prick speared her. If the wife had been woken by the earlier commotion he himself caused, she might be watching them now, her insides dropped to the floor, her world collapsing. Eva felt a spread of joy within.

  His volume rose slightly then his voice became odd and distorted, almost a yelp. Just momentarily she thought he was coming, which would have been quick even for him. Then other evidence was processed and she became aware of the invading presence near her open mouth and at her back. Weight was applied upon her, where her shoulder met her neck. She felt the grip on her nape and the downward pressure - not enough to actually force her to her arse on the floor, more as if readying to do so. Both his hands were still at her backside, trying to hold her up. She detected the scent and her mind told her instantly it was Hunter’s distinguishably fine aftershave. Despite the pressure on her neck she twisted her head to gain a view on what was happening.

  A big hand - Hunter’s hand - was up underneath her fucker’s jaw, forcing the head up. The thumb and fingers were curled up either side of the face, pressing into the flesh, forcing the mouth open. The moonlight afforded her only indistinct glimpses. She thought briefly that she saw defiance and anger in the Italian’s eyes, but this was rapidly replaced by panic and even outright fear. The grip on the jaw looked like it might break bone at any moment, whilst the downward pressure at her shoulder was pushing at the erection buried within her, forcing it dangerously towards the horizontal and beyond, where it could not go without serious injury. The Italian was leaching spit from his open mouth and emitting a quiet, high-pitched moan.

  How Hunter had ghosted through the silence to be there without warning was unclear, although if he had indeed once been a Special Forces operative, he wasn’t going to be known for clumsy, klaxon-blaring approaches. Why he had thought to wait in the shadows for signs of her ducking back out across her drive was another matter, but he had, and now they were as caught in the act as was possible. Not that she gave a fuck. The sudden realisation that they were not alone had caused a sweep of cold adrenalin but this had turned to a thrill when she had smelled his fragrance.

  The Italian was clearly less pleased. Apart from this secret being out of the bag, he was desperately trying to hold her up to avoid having his erection snapped off - all this whilst his face was on the cusp of being transformed from a reasonably handsome one into a drooping mess of shattered bone and flesh. Even if he did dare to raise a hand to help prise the one from his jaw, it looked like it would be a futile effort. This was one of the death grips Eva guessed Hunter would have in his armoury. For all the bravado the man inside her had shown just moments ago, Eva could now smell his fear, feel the shake of his legs. Hunter, it seemed, was indeed tough enough to wipe the floor with anyone, just as she had hoped. Better still, he was cool enough to come back and do it in private, rather than show off his prowess to all.

  She felt the press of him at her back. If he moved his crotch forward it would be in contact with her naked bottom, or at least with the hands of his enemy, still desperately holding her weight. She could feel the heat of his breath now, on her neck and ear. When he spoke it was not the foul-mouthed loud tirade mimicking that so recently aimed his way. It was calm and measured, his closeness designed to allow him to keep his voice low, a surprising act of generosity considering what had gone before.

  ‘I don’t like big-mouths,’ he said, ‘especially when they are hypocritical ones.’

  His voice sent a shiver through Eva, raising the hairs on her skin wherever it was exposed. Fuck, he was close. She involuntarily began to writhe on the prick somehow still hard inside her. The grip on the jaw was unrelenting, freezing the Italian to the spot despite the pain it clearly caused. It felt wonderfully filthy to grind against this man when he was held rigid by fright. It shot her through with power. Just think if Hunter was now to use his own power, forcing into her tighter hole as the frozen enemy involuntari
ly held her open. Two great hard pricks deep inside her at once; a pleasure she could barely imagine.

  It would stretch her until there was almost nothing between their two stiff poles. Despite the tightness of her rear, Hunter would move with freedom, making the Italian feel the friction of that invading prick against his own, almost as if they were skin on skin. Imagine the bliss, not just of having Hunter fuck her bottom, but of watching her macho lover die by inches as his prick was stimulated by the movement of another man’s, taking him inexorably to a shameful, whimpering orgasm that shot out with undeniable glee and flooded her insides. It would almost be a double ravishment - Hunter forcing himself into her without even thinking to ask permission, and then using his cock to draw the seed from that of his vanquished enemy’s, both of them coming in unison.

  Wow, what a fucking awesome thought - the rudeness of it! Here, all exposed, no way to stop him; the muscles that might have fended him off rendered useless; the threat of drawing unwanted eyes down onto the scene of their cheating keeping them silent. He held every ace and could do as he wished. He could tell her in her ear what was to happen and then go about it, defeating her resistance in one long slide. He could take her with as much pace and force and depth as he liked, having her so roughly the slaps threatened to wake the whole street, or inching in and out with teasing restraint, milking his cock for as long as she stayed slippy and tight enough to give him pleasure. She couldn’t imagine an experience that could beat the exhilaration of it.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she said, but it was no more than a breath.

  ‘I think I am going to like you less and less each time you open your mouth,’ Hunter continued, either not hearing or ignoring Eva’s plea, ‘and that is going to be a problem. I suggest you neither talk to me, at me, or about me - at least not for the foreseeable future. Sticking your nose into my business is only going to force me to do the same to yours.’

  Eva was only partially aware he might have been talking to the both of them. She was pushing her rear out, trying to find his crotch, trying to cajole him into making use of her naked behind. The pressure had eased at her neck. The Italian had slumped at the shoulders and was wilting inside her, despite her efforts to grind and ride herself to a finish. She hadn’t noticed the grip had been removed from his jaw. She felt the fingers slipping slowly from her backside. With the cock inside her flagging there was nothing left to hold her up and she had to quickly put her feet down on the floor to avoid ending up in a heap. She slipped off him and stood regarding the Italian’s beaten, shocked, shrunken form. She tutted and pulled her skirt back down. He was no good to her now. It would be fingers and vibrators again.

  ‘You useless piece of shit,’ she hissed, not caring if it did wake the wife inside. At another time he might have slapped her to the floor for her derision. Not now though. It was like every scrap of masculinity had been torn from his body. He was finished. Hunter was indisputably the champion now.

  Tipping Point

  If you drove into the quietness of Temptation Close that crisp November morning, noted the smartness of the houses and their neat front gardens, seen the way the frost glistened in the stillness on the unblemished tarmac, you never would have guessed the whirlwind that was building there. It was as yet indiscernible, still swirling unseen behind each of the closed doors. But it was gathering, gathering. You wouldn’t know it but each day the force was increasing, the spin quickening. It whipped invisibly around the unwitting members of each household, desperate to break.

  Its true power was curtailed by the gaps between the houses. It needed to burst out and link to realise its full devastation. When it was unleashed it would quickly spread and join to form one whole circle of terrible energy, whooshing around the enclosure of their street to suck them all up into its vortex and spin them all apart. Nothing would be left. The only thing that still held it back was secrecy, locking it behind those doors where the infidelity and lies and betrayal lay. Whilst no one spoke of it, it stayed trapped and benign, building its deadly force but unable to break upon them.

  And then Eva went and opened one of those doors.

  The motivation was to fuck a man who refused to be fucked. That other night he could have slipped it up her no questions asked, even while the Italian was still inside her. By rights he could have just pulled her away, done her on her hands and knees on the defeated man’s front lawn whilst the erection of their witness was flagging every bit as fast as his honour and machismo. God, the ruthlessness of Hunter had kept her awake half the night afterwards. The stone-cold reserve and thrilling self-assurance had her frantic fingers refusing to abate once she had leapt under the sheets. No ranting or posturing from him, just quiet execution. She couldn’t remember being so captivated by an individual. It couldn’t have been more of a turn-on unless he had whacked his foe in the face and slipped inside her before the blood had even begun to slide from the beaten Italian’s busted nose.

  He should have used her in the way she deserved. The more it drove her fantasies the more she wished she could rewind time and force the issue. His failure to seize his prize couldn’t be down to how he had found her. She wasn’t one bit worried that Hunter had caught her impaled upon another man’s cock. Females might rate fidelity highly in their prospective partners but men always liked their girls dirty. That wasn’t some sweeping generalisation. That was, like, the law, or something. They wanted to know they were going to score easily and be given lots of filthy treats. They didn’t want to be wasting time with prick teasers. It actually annoyed her, therefore, that he hadn’t immediately sought her out to claim his spoils.

  She would have gone down to his place the morning after, striking while the iron was hot, getting him while the scent of her dirtiness was still in his nostrils. Unfortunately, Hunter had escaped, zooming off somewhere before she had even got out of her pyjamas. Now nearly a week had passed without her seeing him. Each day saw her increasingly put out by his absence. If he had come crawling round last night she might well have smacked him squarely in the face for his audacity. Who the fuck was he not to come straight round and stuff her full of lovely hard-man cock? He had to be gay or there was simply no excuse. Even then she was still going to fuck him, whatever his objections. It was a matter of pride now.

  It was too early for rude shenanigans even for her but she saw Hunter on his drive and it was a sighting she had to act upon. She had no planned strategy. She felt spiky and slighted. Without thinking she was out of her house and heading towards him, hastily formulating a plan of attack in her mind. He spotted her but there was no way to head off her advance. She wore the wide smile and flashing eyes that showed she meant business. If he never lied, now was the time to unearth some truths.

  ‘Tell me something,’ she said, before she was even twenty yards from him, ‘are you gay?’

  It stopped him loading his board onto his car but he remained impassive.

  ‘I am not,’ he said. ‘Aren’t you the one supposed to be?’

  ‘That’s only when I want to be. The rest of the time I’m as hungry for men as the next dirty slut. Is that why you haven’t come round to see me yet, because you think I’m only into girls?’

  ‘Why would you want me coming around when you clearly have others to entertain you?’

  ‘Because I want the baddest of them all and I reckon that’s you. I’m young, free and single, able to look for fun whenever and wherever I want it. You wouldn’t want me tied down, would you?’

  She was quite proud of the way she’d popped that bondage reference in. That had to light his fire. That ought to spark the images of her bending her defenceless bottom over in front of him, looking back all doe-eyed over her shoulder as she waited for him to do his worst. She was grinning archly as she always did when she was flirting so openly. On her way towards him she had rapidly pictured the back and forth between them, the innuendo-tinged banter, the eyeing each other up. Odd, it
wasn’t yet happening. He still had that same impenetrable air about him, his expression remaining impassive. Why wasn’t he biting, or was he not comfortable unless he was taking the lead? Why wasn’t he smiling like he always was when that fucking cow Nesta was talking to him? If he wanted jokes then she could do them better than any red-haired, uptight bitch ever could. But she shouldn’t need to - she had the body and looks and the dirty mind to make all that kind of shit irrelevant. She felt a pang verging on rage that he still seemed to be stonewalling her.

  ‘I’ll tell you who the lesbian in this street is,’ she said, quickly disguising her snarl with a sly smile. ‘That Nesta. I can spot one a mile off. That’s presumably why her husband lets me fuck him whenever I like.’

  She wasn’t sure how venting her anger in this way would help - just some vague notion of damning the wife by association with the errant, sissy husband. Whatever, it stopped him in his tracks. His eyes narrowed slightly, meaning she had got to him at last.

  ‘You’ve slept with Nesta’s husband too?’

  ‘Slept with? It’s hardly that romantic. I’ve had sex with him, a number of times, mostly with me giving it to him if you must know. Not that I have to be in charge. I’m quite happy to be submissive if that’s what takes your fancy.’