Mr. Norton From Next Door Ch. 03

We had been in the night club a while before I noticed that Brenda had gone missing. I had been quite happy enjoying a dance or two and chatting away to two younger men, who bought me drinks and who shocked me a little by the way they behaved, not rowdily but presuming it okay to run their hands over my body and sneak the odd grope or kiss. I told myself that now I was of a different generation and in a place such as this it was nowadays deemed normal behaviour.

There had been more of us in the group but Brenda and some of the others had wandered off. The guy touching my arse as I spoke to his mate brought pictures of Norton to the forefront of my mind, arousing me, thinking that the old man might just be waiting for me to arrive home. I had to move and collect my thoughts so excused myself and went off in search of my friend.

Winding my way through the crowd and into a quite area I came across couples, touching, sliding hands under each others clothing, as they kissed and petted. I felt turned on by what I saw but at the same time disappointed as though I was missing out, getting old. Maybe I should have stayed with those two guys. Reaching a narrow corridor I noticed a door leading to the outside and decided to look thinking that even if Brenda wasn't there I would be at least able to catch a breath of fresh air.

A couple rushed back in from outside looking very bedraggled, yet wickedly contented. Several people stood just outside the doorway dragging on cigarettes. With drink in hand I stepped away from them not wanting to breathe in the second hand smoke. Another couple stood by an archway leading into a small courtyard; I stood at a discrete distance away from their writhing bodies, and then noticed that the girl's hand was thrust inside the pants of her beau! Feeling self-conscious and not wanting to be accused of spying on them I walked through the archway and heard from the corner a familiar tone.

I didn't believe what was before my eyes until Brenda's face became clearly visible in the half-light. Well, I knew she could be wild and outrageous; and I believed her when she said she could guarantee a good time if I went out with her for a drink – but this was something else! Legs akimbo, her arse perched on a low decorative wall, she was hanging on to the man standing in front of her who was thrusting his groin into her like there was no tomorrow – Brenda was being well fucked in a dark corner of the club's yard.

I could only stare, frozen to the spot; to witness someone you know having sex was a weird and unusual experience. The look on her face told me that the filthy dirty pleasure she was obviously enjoying from this illicit sex, was clearly something she had known before. I stood quietly, rooted to the spot, compelled to watch, noticing how the man's backside banged to and fro, his pelvis working hard trying to incite an orgasm from my friend and a release of his sperm.

For a second I failed to react when an arm slipped around my waist; my mind told me it was the two guys who had come out to find me. With my eyes still glued on my fornicating friend I didn't flinch when once again a hand began to feel my bum over my skirt while the hand belonging to the arm around my waist crept up to cup my breast. I felt comfortable enough (and aroused enough) to allow my head to fall to the side to accept the kiss I was being coaxed into having by the tongue tickling under my earlobe.

My right hand held my drink and being careful not to drop the glass or spill it's contents I concentrated on that task rather than on the man who wanted my lips. I was very compliant closing my eyes so as to give my imagination a little leeway thinking of what Brenda was doing and how glad I felt about being there to enjoy the spectacle. It seemed okay, no need to fuss, when the hand on my bum went under my skirt to rub the inside of my thigh and fingers pressed against my lacy knickers.

This was what I had fantasised about for a long time - the feel of another man, allowing different hands to touch and explore those private places, (I felt a delightful and exciting sense of adventurous immorality reminding myself that the wandering hands belonged to not one but two men!)

It all felt very nice though something in the back of my mind was niggling me. By the time I had opened my eyes, the hand of the man who was kissing me had already progressed from squeezing my breast to deftly popping open the two buttons of my top. There were only three but I had dared leave one undone to show off a generous amount of cleavage. At the very same time his fingers slipped inside my bra and touched my bare nipple it registered that these men were complete strangers and not the two young guys I had left in the club!

The man whose lips covered mine was quickly aware of my shock and broke off from the kiss – but his fingers remained inside my bra, playing with my very erect nipples. He watched me, staring, smiling, while I just gazed back with open mouth feeling like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights.

The man whispered in my ear, "Did you think it was someone else?"

I automatically answered in the affirmative adding nothing, doing nothing, just the one word spoken softly, "Yes!"

"We'd better move back a bit before whoever you thought it was comes along!" he grinned as the other man behind gently pulled me into the shadows of the yard.

Stunned and bewildered I let the glass be taken from me and watched as it was placed on the low wall. Now I was guided into an even darker area to stand against the building, a man either side of me.

"We could see you getting very turned on - watching the couple over there having sex," said the smiling guy.

I was quite unable to reply but looking across the yard I could see that Brenda and her beau were still going at it like hammer and tongue; and tongue was the thing I felt next as one man lowered his head and pulling my top down as far as it could go tried to suck my nipple through my bra.

"Sexy isn't it – watching people fuck!" It was more a statement than a question.

I made some sort of noise but kept my eyes glued on Brenda, astounded, and again shocked into silence when I felt fingers pull away the gusset of my panties which then gently parted my pubes exploring inside my pussy and sought out my special spot.

The little kisses came fast and frequent, from either side as each man enjoyed my body. My top was hauled up to release my tits letting the cool night air waft over me. Mouths went from nipples back up to my neck until one man broke the sequence and planted his lips over mine. Maybe he wanted to make sure I didn't scream out when my hand was guided to my side and my fingers were made to wrap around a very hard hot shaft!

The full realisation of what I was doing was making itself felt. This was dirty and I was acting like a slut, stood in a corner of the yard of a seedy club, tits exposed and with two men mauling me and not least, I was happily masturbating one of them. I was now extremely awestruck, every nerve tingling, conscious of every movement, of every touch and sensation. In a moment of sanity I drew away my face alarmed that someone might be watching, then I laughed inwardly wondering why I was bothering when Brenda was right there across the yard being fucked out of her mind.

Suddenly a man appeared, staring, but rather than feel scared or shamed I actually felt my sexual arousal increase enjoying for real the fantasy old Norton's treatment had created of being with more than one man. I smiled wickedly and lewdly while audible signs of my depraved joy and excitement could be easily heard as I watched the guy undo his pants and begin to masturbate while he watched, his other hand holding a glass of beer from which he calmly sipped; I was the live show, the live porn queen.

It was difficult to remember the sequence of events from that point. One memory sees me stood there against the wall hands out to the side each gripping a cock while I watched the man in front enjoying the sight of my bared tits and the sight of fingers inside my pussy. I was stood with legs spread wide, my skirt hitched up to my waist, hips forward.

My imagination, when considering possible situations and expectations of committing adultery and indulging in sluttish behaviour was, at the very worst being groped in the back seat of a car or inviting another man in for coffee then succumbing to a breathless short-lived shag on the couch or maybe a gentle but illicit 'lovemaking' session in the bedroom. Instead I had surrendered my body to strangers, to men whose names I did not even know. Though lost in that wicked lust I was very aware and conscious of what I was doing when I felt the sensation of another man's penis penetrate my pussy.

Constantly I repeated to myself the same astounding statement, shouting it out in my head, "I am being fucked!" Somehow, though the size and movement of the cock inside appeared to change there always seemed to be one available for each hand. My face covered with wet lips and tongues penetrating my mouth prevented me from knowing whom they belonged to or how many they numbered. Panties were long gone allowing my naked flesh to be examined thoroughly. As yet another hand caressed my arse cheeks I heard a comment that gave away a secret.

"Look what she's into! See the marks?"

Fingers traced over the tracks of my whippings and spankings, the red welts I knew were visible. I opened my eyes when the men drew away to view the telltale evidence and looked into the eyes of these much younger men, boys much the junior to this slut housewife who had offered herself up for a gangbang, lads who had probably never imagined respectable married women actually indulged in such habits – not in real life. But then, until a few days ago – neither had I!

I was very self-conscious now and felt incredibly vulnerable and exposed, a sight to be stared at and ogled at in a vulgar way. The eyes and gaping jaws of the remaining boys unsettled me as we stared at each other though I cannot account as to why I let the last man finish what he was doing and shoot his jism on my belly. They were soon gone and I looked across the yard for Brenda; she was no longer there.

"Come on, we promised to take you home," said a voice.

A hand wrapped around my upper arm and I looked up to see that the people who were taking responsibility for me were two older men, men my age in fact. Bundled into the ladies room they suggested I clean up while they waited. It was a while before rationality returned and I got my head back. Maybe, I thought, they would have tired of waiting by now and would be gone. Discretely I could walk out of the club and hail a cab, never again having to face any male I had encountered this night; having had their fill, they too would be long gone.

The plan worked fine until I reached the foyer when the men appeared either side of me. I was taken aback when I heard them refer to me by name, telling me Brenda had asked a favour – look after Daisy. The thought that these men had probably watched all that had gone on was mortifying and extremely embarrassing. I went along with their 'guidance' when any sensible woman would have dismissed them or at least queried their validity. Every time I did glance at them I felt very aware of how they would see me, of what I was – a well-fucked unfaithful slut housewife! Then they must also know of my secret; had they seen my bare arse, the red swollen belt marks on my bum cheeks? Did Brenda know - had she seen them; would she assume it was the work of my husband, our kinky fetish? What did these men think? Who were these men anyway?

They knew where I lived; it was they who gave the driver directions. I didn't speak, and neither did they other than utter what was necessary. Squeezed between them in the back seat I found it impossible to avoid letting our thighs touch and wasn't able to find the elbowroom to grip hold of the hem of my skirt to maintain modesty. The driver had a good view as he turned around at almost every junction and traffic light, having a need to ask an inordinately long list of questions. Perhaps I should have spoken up when the two men alighted from the cab and began to escort me to the door.

There was a light on at old Norton's house. I feared that he would hear the engine of the cab and look out of his window to see me.

"I don't want anyone seeing you!" I nervously told them, speaking very quietly.

"That's understandable!" said one, and then to my horror the cab revved up and pulled away.

The man noted the expression on my face. "It's okay," he smiled, "I have paid him!"

"That's not what I meant!" I spluttered. I tried to bluff, "Look, my husband will wake up and set the dog on you!"

The men smiled like one does when they tolerate tiresome fibbing children.

"We are friends of Brenda," I was reminded. "Your husband is away – and you don't have a dog!"

There was a movement behind the frosted glass of Norton's side door. I felt a need for self-preservation; I certainly didn't want Norton to gloat and gain a hold over me, possibly using the knowledge to blackmail me. Sure I had given in to the old man and allowed him to witness and arouse a darker and previously unknown side of my personality – and let him help and show me how best to enjoy it! But it was between we two only and I retained the option of denial if he should decide to expose my misbehaviour. There was no third party to confirm his story and anyway, would my husband believe this strange doddering old man who did the odd jobs? The young guys at the club probably picked up sluts every weekend – to them I would just another loose woman. They may even have already pushed me to the back of their minds, history.

The other man spoke.

"We promised Brenda that we would see you safely inside the house." He pointed toward the light from next door, "Will you feel better if we ask your neighbours to pop across, it looks like they are still up?"

"No!" I cried making more noise than ever.

"We understand," said the tallest man, "I expect you might be scared. Maybe if he tells your husband you'll get a beating; we've seen the marks on your bottom. Is it your husband who beats you?"

"No!" I grunted, gritting my teeth at their insinuations. Right away I decided it would have been better if I had left them with that impression.

They looked at me calmly but in a penetrating way.

"You do it for pleasure then, a game?"

I had already said 'No' it was not wife beating, how could I answer without admitting the truth? I didn't have time to reply because Norton's silhouette behind his door told me he was about to take it off the latch. My lack of response to the question would be taken as a yes - I like to be whipped. It was certainly then a very bad mistake for me to utter the next words.

"Come on in quickly, but you can't stay long!"

Inside I figured out what I should have said, and tried to repair the damage.

"Look, I only invited you in because the guy next door was about to come out and I don't want to give him an excuse to cause trouble. I just wanted to get you out of sight, okay? Brenda has never mentioned you to me but thanks for seeing me home and I have to say that what you saw tonight was way out of character for me. I think someone must have spiked my drink. I'm a respectable housewife."

"But the marks on your arse tell a different story! No one spiked your drinks then bent you over to deliver those whacks did they? You would have hardly been comfortable coming out clubbing tonight – let alone allowing your knickers to come off – while some young guys fucked you!"

The tall one stepped forward and held my wrists, making my arms go behind my back. I felt my heart thump and my body begin to shake.

"Please!" I begged, "Don't do that, let me go!"

The guy stood in front of me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He pressed my folded wrists against my backside pushing my groin into his. This was not going to end here; there would be no cosy chat over a coffee. The smaller one plunged an arm between the two of us and grabbed hold of a breast.

"Your panties never reappeared Daisy. If we find them we'll be sure to send them on – to your husband. Perhaps with a letter explaining how the mishap came about."

Oh stupid me! There I was worrying about Mr Norton, and how clever I was being. The young guys at the club were sorted out and I thought I had every base covered. How had I been so idiotic not to realise the men who brought me home would present a threat. They had watched me being fucked, seen the marks the leather belt had left. Why put me in this position if they were friends of the outrageous Brenda?

"You bastards! Do you blackmail my friend too? Do you hold her to ransom?"

The man laughed quietly then surprisingly he let me loose. "How about pouring us a drink?"

Thoughts were rushing through my head and I was already resigned to the fact that I would have to give them what they wanted. I tried to remain calm and opened the drinks cabinet telling them with a very shaky voice what was on offer. One sat while the other remained standing. I too remained on my feet occasionally pacing the room slowly, trying to control my nerves. They attempted casual conversation, all the time their eyes glued on me watching every move I made.

"What do I call you?" I asked trying to give the appearance that if I could consider such triviality and friendly informality then I must be calm and in full control.

"You don't need to know that," smirked the small one. "Just call us Bill and Ben – he's Bill," he joked, pointing to the tall seated one.

This strained patter carried on for a long fifteen minutes. I drained my glass and went to the cabinet for a refill. First I felt a tickle on the back of my thigh then a draught as my skirt was pushed slowly up over my bare arse. I was in reach of the small man, Ben, who now sat on the arm of a chair while he stroked my backside.

"You won't tell us who made those marks – tell us what they were made with."

Again I felt mortified and a sense of outrageous humiliation filled me at being made to openly explain and describe how those welts came to be there. I had to offer an answer.

"A leather belt," I answered, in a shameful tone. I was very, very conscious of the nakedness of my posterior as the hand travelled over from cheek to cheek.

"And you admit it wasn't inflicted, shall we say, by an angry man; rather a man who experiences a form of pleasure in chastising ladies bottoms?"

He had almost a whimsical mocking lilt to his voice. I nodded confirming his supposition.

"This man wasn't your husband?"

"My God!" I cried out, "No it wasn't – but you know that! I have never been involved with anything like that before. It was a one time only thing. I can't explain why I let it happen."

"Or why it should excite you in such a perverse way?"

"It 'did' - past tense," I admitted, "I told you it was a one off and I have no wish for it to happen again."

"But you found that pain turned to pleasure?"

I stood firm, eyes fixed on the glass in front of me facing toward the piece of furniture. I was fighting to control my voice, suppressing the tears welling up in my eyes and subduing the sobs erupting from my jittery stomach. The hand caressing my bottom drifted into the crease right at the very top of my thigh and tickled area between my pubes and anus before fingers drew a line along my entire arse crack. Every few trips the fingers would feel over the red, slightly raised lines.

"You experienced pleasure?" The man repeated his question. "You found that pain turned to pleasure – sexual pleasure; you became aroused?"

"Yes! But not when he spanked me too hard!"

The fingers explored the dark crevices, pushing a little deeper, discovering, there a moistness of the skin. A rough thumb pushed hard against my anal hole made me howl softly, forcing me forward slightly, but the relaxation that followed allowed better access to my orifice.