Coventry Park Pt. 03

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The neighborhood wives are lonely in their marriages.
4.1k words
3.29
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8

Part 3 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 11/13/2015
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Chapter 12

Monica had told me the party was scheduled for eight o'clock, the dress casual. I didn't go outside all day Saturday, kept peeking out my living-room window expecting to see Larry. By seven o'clock I had settled down somewhat. If Larry was coming he'd have been here by now, I reasoned.

I took a hot bath to relax me, then put on beige chinos, a yellow button-down shirt, and a cream-colored sport jacket. I didn't want to be the first one there, so I left at nine, figuring most of the guests would have arrived and I could blend in more inconspicuously.

When I rang the front doorbell my heart jumped into my throat. Monica's smile allayed my fears.

"Glad you could make it, Ted."

I nodded and entered, closing the door behind me.

"The bar's set up on the back patio," she said. "Go get yourself a drink."

I nodded again, cursing myself that I couldn't find my words.

I ordered a Chivas on the rocks from a waistcoated bartender and looked around the large and rather ostentatious patio. Thirty or so people were milling about, many locked in conversations in groups of two, three, and four. The patio was constructed of decorative three-foot-square salmon-colored ceramic tiles with swirl patterns on them. The bar sat under a small white canvas canopy and was attended by two twenty-something boy-men in white long-sleeved dress shirts, black vests, black bowties, and white linen gloves. A high thick hedge surrounded the yard, and another cut across it where the tiles ended, some thirty feet from the house. Pleasant fragrances wafted through the air from the flowerbeds behind.

In front of the hedge that bisected the yard were several granite benches. Carly and Chloe sat on one with Joel and another boy, whom I assumed was Nathan Podloski. They drank from glasses of Coke, chatting and laughing. I turned my head before they could see me and walked away from the bar, continuing to scan the patio. Monica's husband Aaron was engaged in conversation with Livvy Bresman's husband Chuck. Aaron looked more dapper than I could have imagined, in a sky-blue summer-weight cotton suit that hid his pudgy body well, and a white oxford shirt unbuttoned at the neck. His hair, combed neatly from side to side, looked a little thicker than the balding pate I had seen two days earlier. His lined face appeared now to have a bit of a tan, in contrast to the earlier pastiness I had noted. He was listening to Chuck attentively, nodding his head politely, no doubt hearing the story of the prodigal son or some other uplifting tale. Chuck had foregone a jacket and was wearing navy-blue gabardine pants and a white golf shirt with a logo on the pocket. The shirt ballooned out a bit over his belly due to his small paunch. As I watched them, Aaron's eyes began to wander. When he saw me he smiled, and his sophistication immediately vanished in my mind. Once again I saw the fleshy doughboy body and sperm-slick lips of a few days earlier. My cheeks burned and the scotch curdled in my stomach. I looked away.

In a far corner of the patio, under the fast-setting orange sun, Crystal Taylor was talking with Greta and Clarence Hillcrest. The Hillcrests had lived in the house currently occupied by Monica and Aaron Beldham. They had moved out about a month ago, after Clarence's employer offered him a promotion that required relocating. I suspected that Greta hadn't put up much of a fight—our five-month relationship, started when her marriage fell into the doldrums, had ended badly. I think she expected me to sweep her off her feet and propose to her, saving her from a loveless situation. But that wasn't my style—at least the proposal part. I'd had to resort to calling her names—pig, cunt, slut—to pry her clinging hands loose from my pant leg. Shortly after that they moved away. I hadn't seen her since. Hadn't wanted to. A fresh pain bit into my gut at the sight of her now. Things on the patio suddenly seemed very claustrophobic. I had to escape.

I went back into the house and wandered into the kitchen. Monica and a woman I assumed was the caterer were putting the finishing touches on platters of hors d'oeuvres. Oysters on the half shell with little white ceramic tubs of seafood sauce; mini sausage rolls; California-wrap sandwiches of ham and Swiss cheese, and prosciutto, lettuce and tomato, sliced on the diagonal into finger-sized portions.

Monica saw me and said, "Getting chilly out there?"

It wasn't. I nodded anyway.

She smiled. "You're very quiet tonight."

"I'm a little under the weather," I said.

My drink was down to ice and water. Monica took it from me. "Why don't I refresh this? You can go downstairs, where it's warmer. There's a bunch more people down there. What's your poison?"

"Chivas," I said. "Thanks." I left.

The basement rec room was spacious and open, maybe forty feet square. A large wide-screen TV was mounted on one wall, with an elaborate-looking home theater system in a dark wood entertainment stand beneath it. The TV was off, but soft music played in the background. I was surprised to find a larger crowd down here than the one gathered on the patio outside. Despite the numerous couches and chairs, most were standing, creating a sea of people

In a few minutes Monica showed up with my drink and then left. I stayed by myself, surveying the room. There were quite a few people I didn't recognize, for which I was grateful. Being a high-powered lawyer, I figured Monica probably had many professional colleagues and acquaintances, and judging by the nattily dressed group in attendance, no doubt that was who most of them were. The overhead lights were dimmed low, a couple of table lamps providing spotlights on a few in the crowd. A fresh pain almost doubled me over when I saw Larry Taylor talking with Connie and Gary Macmillan in a dark corner. I took a large gulp of my drink.

In the duskiness of the room Larry's skin looked even blacker than normal, and his body huger. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn on our double date with Alicia and Mandy—gray wool slacks and a black silk shirt unbuttoned almost halfway. Connie seemed to be admiring his chest while Larry and Gary talked. Gary was a good-looking guy, friendly and affable. I never could figure out why Connie was unable to keep her eyes, and her hands, to herself. I doubted I was the first dalliance she'd had during the course of her marriage. As I watched her laugh at something Larry said, pressing her hand to his shoulder, running her tongue sexily over her lips, any doubt I had turned into a certainty. She had been equally as flirtatious with me, leaving the message clear, the invitation open. And I had accepted it and had pounded her pussy and ass every chance I got, my like of Gary be damned. I had never made friends with any of the men in Coventry Park. I'd always felt uncomfortable in their presence, many for good reason. The closest I'd come to any kind of camaraderie was with Larry. Until I'd set him up for the fall. That relationship was untenable now. I only hoped it didn't turn murderous.

Despite my fascination watching Connie's little seductive tricks, I melted back into the crowd to avoid being seen. I swallowed the last of my drink, and was surprised to find Monica at my elbow with another. She took my empty glass, handed me the fresh one, and said, "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Thanks," I said.

She hooked her arm in mine and looked at me with gleaming eyes. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Sure," I lied.

The proximity of her body made me remember how tight her pussy had been. My cock began to rise in my pants. I thought I saw her glance down at it briefly before she said, "Can you stay until the end?"

I took a gulp of my drink and looked at her. The hour or so I'd already spent here felt like a life sentence. But I couldn't get the image of her naked and riding my cock out of my mind.

"I guess," I said.

She gave me her coy little grin. "Good," she said, and left again.

The promise her eyes had held made my cock stand out like a redwood under my pants. Embarrassed, I walked over to a far dark corner. Ten feet away, Reverend Wallis from Coventry United Church was chatting with a woman I didn't know. She was quite attractive, in a short pink sundress and white leather sandals. That didn't help my boner. I sipped on my drink, trying not to watch them too obviously. Even in the washed-out light the woman's long strawberry hair seemed to shine. Reverend Wallis was decked out in black and wearing his clerical collar. His hair was silver, well groomed. I guessed his age at sixty or so. As I watched, his eyes seemed to stray every so often to the woman's substantial cleavage. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then suddenly his hand was on her left breast, squeezing it. My mouth fell open, and I almost dropped my near-empty glass. As I continued to gawk, he popped the woman's breast out of her bodice and kissed her. The kiss almost seemed chaste for a moment, until I saw tongues pushing back and forth. Reverend Wallis drew back a bit and dipped his face down to her breast, and I gasped when his tongue came out. It looked to be a good six or seven inches long, as narrow as a stretched piece of bubblegum. But what shocked me most was the tip of it—it was split into two pointed tines, like a snake's. It flicked over the redhead's nipple, eliciting a moan, and then wrapped itself around it. The woman clutched his head to her bosom, her own head thrown back, her eyes closed. Reverend Wallis's hand went to his fly, and my knees wobbled when he pulled out his cock. It too looked serpentine: at least ten inches long, with a large, flared, cobra-like glans. As I gawked, a smaller version of Reverend Wallis's tongue slithered out from the hole in the end of his dick and burrowed under the woman's short dress. Reverend Wallis slid his hands up her thighs from behind and gripped two firm-looking ass cheeks. His fingernails were yellow, thick, rough, distorted. I watched the little tongue of his cock squeeze under the crotch of the woman's panties.

I turned my head to find an ally who might be witnessing this—I was sure no one could be missing it. My breath froze in my lungs when I saw Connie Macmillan on her knees, sucking Larry Taylor's big black cock to the root. He was humping her mouth, still talking with Gary, both men smiling as if nothing were happening. As I watched, Gary's hand dropped nonchalantly onto his wife's head and started pushing it back and forth on Larry's oversized log.

Waves of heat flared into my face, and I felt myself start to sway. I turned to the other guests, certain all their mouths would be agape, and stared in disbelief. The entire crowd was joined in copulatory union, many in groups of three or more. The four kids from the patio were there, Nathan fucking Chloe doggy-style while she knelt on the floor and ate Carly's pussy. Joel had Carly's head in his hands and was plunging his cock in and out of her mouth. I twisted my head around and saw Aaron Beldham on his knees, his white shirt open, his sky-blue jacket pulled halfway down his shoulders. His pants were gone, and he was sucking off a man with black slicked-back hair in a dark Armani suit while the man gripped his head and rammed his cock into his face. A pain ripped through my gut when I saw Crystal Taylor on her knees behind Aaron, her chocolate breasts spilling out the top of her sleek black dress, her delicate pink tongue flicking over Aaron's asshole. Beside them a chain of six other people were tangled, fucking assholes and cunts, sucking cocks and pussies, rimming anuses. I collapsed to my knees, my head bouncing on the carpet. The heat in my body surged to molten. Just when I thought I would pass out, a pair of white high heels stepped in front of me. I looked up and my stomach lurched. Monica Beldham leered down at me with beady red eyes. Sharp jagged teeth showed behind her crooked smile. The last thing I remember was her raising the front of her grape velour dress to show me her bald pussy and the red-horned tattoo covering it.

Chapter 13

I opened my eyes slowly, groaning at the pain around my wrists and neck. My brain felt like it had been used in a game of volleyball, and my mouth was thick and dry. I was in a kneeling position, my wrists and neck locked in some kind of medieval stock. My legs were spread, my ankles shackled firmly to the floor behind me. I scanned the room trying to get my bearings. It was my basement rec room. I saw Monica coming down the stairs in white shorts and a mauve tube top. I tried to speak, but something round and plastic-feeling was clogging my mouth. I grunted around it, begging Monica to release me from this cruel practical joke. In my panicked state, the noises I made sounded high-pitched, effeminate.

She smiled and folded her arms under her breasts. "You don't say?" she said. She came over and grabbed something off a coffee table beside me, held it in front of my face. I grunted and twisted as she squeezed the black leather mask over my head. There were only openings for my eyes and nostrils. The taut leather pressed the ball gag tighter into my mouth, and claustrophobia gripped me. That same girly squeak jumped from my throat when I noticed Crystal on the stairs. I went quiet again when I saw Larry behind her. She was leading him, blindfolded and shirtless, his hands on her shoulders. At the landing she took his arm and brought him toward me. His massive cock was poking down the left leg of his black gym shorts. Crystal was dressed primly in red stretch capri pants and a pink halter top. She walked Larry behind me and put his hands on my ass. "Feel," she said. "See how soft her cheeks are?"

"Yeah," Larry murmured in his deep gravelly voice. He caressed and squeezed my buttocks, his thumb feathering over my anus. How could he not feel the hair there? I wondered, then realized I'd been shaved.

"This is the only way you'll cheat on me again," Crystal told him. "At my choosing, with me watching. Right?"

"Yeah," Larry said. His voice sounded mesmerized as he continued kneading my butt.

I felt an arm brush the back of my thigh, and heard Crystal say, "Let's get these off of you." For a moment I thought she was going to free me and put an end to this sordid lunacy. Then I felt her pulling down Larry's shorts. His knees lifted, one at a time, pressing against my rear as she took the shorts off his feet. Larry spread my ass cheeks with his big hands, and I felt something nudge my anus. I heard one of them—Crystal, I thought—spit, and felt a large wet glob hit my asshole. The pressure there slowly increased, and Crystal laughed. "I don't know if it's going to fit," she said. I felt her slender finger squeeze inside my anus and begin to twist and turn. A second finger joined it, and then Crystal spat again, spraying out another wet bullet of saliva onto my hole.

"There," she said. "Let's try it now.

I squealed like a piglet as Larry's huge cockhead popped past my sphincter. It felt like the biggest turd I had ever taken. The pain was so excruciating I was blinded for a moment. Larry gripped my buttocks and pushed again, and bright lights exploded before my eyes.

"She's fucking tight," he said.

"Isn't she?" Crystal said. I could hear the smile, the mirth in her voice. I wanted to kill her.

"She's squirming around like she's never had it before," Larry said

"She hasn't," Crystal said.

"Sweet," Larry said.

He dug his fingernails into my buttocks and drove his giant pole twelve inches up my ass. I squealed out another high-pitched Eeee! around the ball gag, writhing and jerking my body and head around. I had never felt anything so painful, and had to squeeze my eyes shut. It felt like his cockhead was up in my guts, rearranging my organs. My neck was raw from the stock—bleeding, I thought—but I couldn't stop grinding it around. It was blessed relief when Larry's cock began to withdraw, feeling more natural coming out than going in. But the relief was short-lived when, a second later, he punched it inside me again, his balls slapping hard against mine. He started pummeling me like a mechanical bull, gyrating his hips around rodeo-style, relentless, unfeeling.

I opened my eyes and saw Aaron Beldham descending the stairs, naked, his jellyrolls jiggling. He walked up to the stock quietly, got on his knees beside it, and eased his head between it and my legs. The touch of his balding pate against my stomach made me cringe, and my anal muscles contracted involuntarily.

"Fuck!" Larry said, and punched his pole into me again.

I tried to unclench my rectum to lessen the pain, but when Aaron's warm mouth closed over my cock, my asshole seized up again.

"I think she's liking it now," Larry said, driving into me harder.

"I think so, too," Crystal said. "Give it to her, baby. Come inside her."

Against all my wishes, my cock began to harden in Aaron's sucking, slurping mouth. Between my squeals and the harsh slap-slap of our bodies, I knew Larry couldn't hear the sloppy sounds Aaron was making.

Monica walked up in front of me and pulled her white shorts down to her knees. Her pussy leered at me, lewdly, sweetly. I was shocked to see that the devil tattoo was no longer there. Stupidly, I tried to flick my tongue out at her smooth tanned flesh. It mashed against the ball gag.

"I'm close," Larry grunted, pounding me gorilla-like.

"Do it," Crystal said. "Come in his ass."

Larry froze. "His ass?"

"I meant her ass," Crystal said. "Come on, baby, give it to her."

Larry pumped me hard five more times, then buried his cock balls-deep. I felt his hot splooge explode in my anal channel at the same time that the semen blasted out of my cock and into Aaron's mouth. I couldn't help it—I started rocking my hips, trying to get my dick as deep into Aaron's throat as possible.

"She's fucking me back. Finally," Larry said, giving me his short strokes. His ejaculations felt like hard burning bullets against my tender inner walls. My whole insides felt drenched with hot semen. But that didn't stop the satisfied feeling as my dick slowly shriveled in Aaron's mouth.

Chapter 14

"Mommy, are you okay?" I said.

Mandy scribbled my words onto the silver-coiled steno pad on her knee. She moaned.

She was sitting in a chair ten feet in front of the stock, with Livvy Bresman's face between her legs eating her. Behind Livvy, my ex-friend Bobby J was punching his eight-inch cock hard up her golden-fleeced cooze. They had fed me my lunch of Gerber's mashed peas and applesauce. Now it was time to work...and fuck.

"Okay, what's next?" Mandy asked.

"That last bit is in quotation marks," I said.

She pecked a couple of bird's feet onto the page. "Okay."

I said, "The voice of Connie's six-year-old son Jason sang through the locked bedroom door."

Mandy looked at me wide-eyed. "You did her while her son was in the house?"

Shame returned, filling my cheeks with heat. It wasn't the first time. "Yes," I said.

Mandy smirked at me, holding Livvy's head between her thighs. "You really are nasty, aren't you?"

I didn't reply.

I got through maybe a thousand words before the three of them came in a frenzy of whoops and moans. Mandy and Livvy sucked Bobby J's cock clean, then put on their clothes, ready to leave.

"Wait!" I said. " I have to pee."

Livvy looked at Bobby. He came over, pulled down the front of my diaper, and with a pair of tongs maneuvered my dick into the top of a stainless steel canister. It felt sore after the three-a-day blowjobs I'd been getting from Aaron this past week.

When I was done, Bobby took the canister over to the laundry sink, dumped it, and rinsed it. He came back and set it under my dick again.

12