Next Door Neighbors

"Yes, you're..." he nodded, sorrowfully. "Maybe, I'm overreacting. I don't know why... why it got me so bad, today."

"He was your friend, you knew him for so long," she comforted him. "It's only reasonable. What do you say we eat and forget this whole thing?"

"Yeah, why not?" He shrugged his shoulders, having completely lost his appetite (not only for food, but, for life as well).

* * * *

They were sitting on the couch, close to each other, watching a movie on the television set; Lana was drinking coffee, Robert a cold beer. The movie was not very good, yet they both stared at the big screen, having nothing else left to do.

"You go for another one?" Lana remarked, when Robert hastily got up and went to the kitchen.

"Yeah, why?" He shrugged his shoulder, when he came back carrying a cold, opened bottle of Bud.

"Don't you think you've already had enough to drink?" She pointed, sturdily, at the four empty bottles standing like glass soldiers on the coffee table.

"No, I'm still good," he mumbled, with faint annoyance in his voice, and sat back down; he lifted the bottle and had a good, long hit.

"Honey," Lana started, taking his hand into hers.

"Not now," he retracted his hand and reached for the pack of cigarettes next to her coffee mug. "I want to watch the movie."

"Since when do you smoke?" Her voice came out shrill, when he lit it and dragged long. "You've always told me how nasty a habit it is, and always nagged me to quit!"

"Yeah, well..." he looked at the lit cigarette between his fingers, the thin line of grey smoke rising from its edge. "Things change," he shrugged his shoulders, gave her a brief, cold smile, and drank long.

"It really got to you, huh? Today's incident..." Lana remarked, but, received no reply, aside from an apathetic glance that lasted merely a second.

Robert remained fixated on the television, watching the aliens invading Earth; they both knew that, in the end, the aliens would be defeated and the heroes celebrated, but, there was nothing better to do, nothing else about which to discuss.

"I'm going to bed," Robert stated matter-of-factly, as he drank up his seventh beer and got up. "You coming?"

"I think I'll stay a bit longer," Lana said, apologetically. "There's a movie coming up, I want to see."

"Suit yourself; I have to get up early in the morning," he stumbled towards the bedroom; in less than five minutes, Lana could hear his snoring.

What happened? Lana wondered silently, and in slight horror. Robert's demeanor had changed rapidly after the meal, after he had taken a shower, after... did he find anything discriminating, anything that informed him about her escapade?

It was impossible; Lana had gone through everything in the apartment to ensure not even the faintest trace of evidence was left behind, yet... it was such a sudden change, and it was a Robert she had never before seen, or even thought could exist.

Definitely, he had been overwhelmed by his work, by the cases he had to deal with, by everything that was transpiring around them; everyday, watching the news was the most depressing task, the most impossible feat for any sane person.

Nevertheless, she was horrified of this sudden change and immediately attributed it to her own infidelity; she knew, however, that it wasn't her actions from the morning that had caused this abrupt change. It was something else, something dark brooding up inside Robert; for how long had it been going on, without she noticing anything?

Was it already too late to salvage the situation?

She lit a cigarette and her glance turned to the television, as the movie started; she was in no mood to watch a movie, yet, there was nothing else left for her to do. She could not go lay down on their bed; she had been adamant since morning to avoid lying down next to Robert until he was fast asleep, yet, now, she had yet another reason to avoid the bedroom.

Hence, all there was left to do was to watch (or, at the least, pretend to do so) the movie, waiting for it to get late, waiting for exhaustion to take completely over, so she could go to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, without being plagued by horrendous thoughts of what she did and what's really troubling Robert.

A quick, low knock on the door brutally interrupted all her thoughts, rendering her motionless and breathless; she did not dare approach the door, let alone answer it. She waited for a couple of minutes, there was no new knock.

Slightly more relieved, albeit with her heart still racing in her chest, she peeked through the peephole; no one. The lights of the hallway were turned on, but, it was a five-story condominium, someone might have just come home.

She went to return to the couch, when something crumbled under her foot; she picked the small piece of paper up and her eyes popped open in terror, when she read the simple line written on it in a bad, hasty handwriting:

in 10 minutes in the hallway; or else.

That was all, and she looked through the peephole once more, without discerning anyone waiting. She leaned against the door, crushing the piece of paper in her fist, trying to relax, to lower her breathing.

Robert's snoring was still audible and the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes mercilessly; Lana unlocked the door, holding her breath, as silently as she could. She stepped out of the apartment, nervously.

The piece of paper fell off her fist, when she found herself caught in a half-nelson hold; a rough hand muffled her mouth and her surprised scream.

"Do you want to wake your husband up?" Stan whispered crudely. "Don't you think it's better to let him sleep peacefully?"

"What do you want?" She demanded, though in a barely audible whisper, whilst still struggling in the hold.

"I'll only give you one chance to guess," he chuckled in her ear and drove his hand under her t-shirt.

"Stop it," she said, her voice gradually losing the previous tone of command.

"Or what?" He mocked her, then bit her earlobe, lightly.

He began kissing the back of her neck, loosening his grip on her arm, which he still held behind her head; he fondled her breasts, his fingers rubbed her nipples erect.

Lana sighed heavily; she saw the way out, now that his grip had been loosened, but, didn't take it. Excitement overcame her, as she knew Robert was fast asleep just on the other side of the wall whereon they were leaning; Stan's hand came out of her t-shirt and went directly to her crotch.

First, he rubbed her pussy from above the sweatpants, slapping her down there softly; Lana's knees buckled, as he continued to kiss her softly on the back of the neck. He held her up, his hand firmly on her vagina, pushing the sweatpants' fabric against her naked, from underneath, cunt.

"Why now? Why here?" She whispered in his ear amid a prolonged moan.

"Isn't it thrilling?" He responded with a smirk. "Your poor husband sleeping a hard day's work away, and I'm about to fuck your pussy again, right on the hallway. Hmm, very exciting, indeed!"

"Someone could see us," she protested, alas not very vividly.

"Yet another layer of excitement, Lana," he blew in her ear as he spoke, then kissed her shoulder blade, the soft area between her shoulder and collar bone.

"I don't... like... it..." she groaned, when his hand slipped into her sweatpants and his middle finger penetrated her; he once more moved it up and down as if calling someone over. Her knees grew weaker almost in an instant.

She rested her head on his broad shoulder, biting her lips down hard to muffle all oncoming moans and screams. Four of his fingers were now stretching her out, preparing her for the coming onslaught she could still recall from earlier and longed to experience yet again.

Swiftly, she lowered her sweatpants down to her ankles, while his fingers continued banging her away, hard.

"Good, I see you're learning quick," he whispered in her ear and his dry chuckle brought a shiver down her spine.

She heard the unzipping sound; in seconds, his rock-hard cock was against her ass cheeks. He slapped it on her ass twice, then rubbed it slow on her crack. More moans tried to escape her mouth, she was biting her lips down hard, resulting in her producing a continuous humming sound.

He pulled his fingers out, made her suck them dry; he rubbed his cock between her thighs, slapped it on her pussy. Suddenly, he pushed her forward; she bent over, hands on the floor and standing on tiptoe, and he gripped her from the waist, firmly.

One thrust and he was halfway in; a scream did escape her mouth at the penetration. Immediately, her heart skipped a beat, fearful Robert had heard her and would soon come rushing through the door and catch her in this uncompromised position, from which no excuse in the world would get her out.

Even Stan remained still momentarily, listening to the sounds of the night; no oncoming footsteps, no wandering whispering. Complete silence within the condominium and the constant traffic of the nearby avenue the only sound.

Hence, he began the pounding; at first, he was gentle and deliberate. With every thrust, he buried his cock deeper inside of Lana, gradually stretching her inner walls, until he was balls deep in.

"You like that, don't you?" He asked her in a whisper, then squeezed her ass hard. "Being stuffed like this? You love every fucking second of it, don't you?"

He reached forth, grabbed her tit and gave it a good, hard squeeze; "answer me," he said, more sternly, "when I talk to you."

"Yes, yes," she whispered in a groan, "I love it... I do..." her tone turned into embarrassed admittance, which brought on a harsh, dry chuckle to Stan.

"Good girl," he said, still chuckling; then, he pounded away, driving his cock fast and hard inside of Lana, whose body moved rhythmically to the thrusts back and forth, her breasts dangling freely and on occasion hitting her on the chin.

Sensations of intense pleasure swarmed her mind, overflowing her nerve fibers; her body had grown numb, her toes were curled. She was desperately trying to keep quiet, but, it was an almost impossible task to accomplish, as the pounding increased in tenacity and speed, Stan's monstrous member driven inside of her furiously.

He grabbed her hair, pulled it backwards; he slapped her on the ass quite a few times, giving her cheeks a bright red color. "That's it, you love it rough, don't you?" He asked her in a harsh whisper. "I told you," he said more demanding, "to answer me, when I talk to you! Are you deaf, or just plain stupid?" He slapped her on the ass, hard.

She groaned, bit her tongue; "yes, yes, I love it," she whispered amid her rapid panting. "I love it rough, just like that," she put her hands on the wall next to the elevator, trying to balance herself on this position, as her legs were growing sore and numb.

Abruptly, he pulled out, leaving her pussy gaped; "turn around, bitch," he commanded her and Lana, obediently despite herself, turned around and got down to her knees.

"You may not be able to take it down your throat, yet," he slapped his dick on her forehead, while stroking it fast, "but, you can still shower in my cum."

She opened her mouth, reluctantly, staring at his pulsating meat.

"Beg for it," he told her, a grimace altering his face.

"Please," she whispered, "I want your cum; I want to swallow down every last drop."

"Good girl," he groaned; "there you go, you fucking bitch!" His voice turned louder.

A stream of hot semen landed on her face and onto her tongue; Lana remained still, accepting the hot load on her skin, flinching only when few drops landed in her eye, burning her.

"That's a good girl," Stan said in a low voice, obviously exhausted. "Soon, I'll make all three of your holes mine..." he patted her on the head and gave her a meaningful wink. "You may want to go get some rest now; you never know when I'll call on you next."

"All right," she managed to mutter, but, Stan had already gotten in his apartment and locked the door. "Shit," she whispered under her breath, as she wiped the cum off her face with her fingers.

She licked her fingers clean, tasting the salty, yet somehow sweet too, sperm; after she had ensured there was no more cum on her, she got up and pulled her sweatpants on.

She went back in her apartment, softly closing the door and locking it; she rushed to the bathroom, wiped her face in a towel, just for certainty's sake, then washed her face vigorously. A shower was all she needed, but, at this ungodly hour a shower was out of the question, especially with Robert sleeping (and snoring) in the next room.

She laid down on the double bed, caressed Robert's shoulders tenderly, fearful of wakening him. Her head hit the pillow and thus she remained, laying on her back and staring at the dark ceiling, remembering the intense orgasm she had just experienced, but, also considering the awful guilt slowly murdering her soul.

Underneath her closed eyelids all she could see was Stan's package, but, at the same time, Robert was somewhere near watching her becoming an obedient little woman to Stan; she fell asleep amid the conflict of her two selves, the strong woman wishing to help her husband in his time of need and the little girl enjoying every moment of (harsh) attention she got from the newcomer in her life.

Chapter 3

It had been two days without any sign of life from Stan; the renovation of his apartment had seemingly been concluded (judged by the lack of any tool-related sounds) and Lana had not seen him since that night in the hall.

On one hand, she was glad about it; she had been able to enjoy the peace of her home once more, although the fear of Stan suddenly making an appearance, demanding more sexual favors constantly hovered above her head, like a black cloud threatening to bring forth a storm.

On the other hand, however, she was disappointed, too; had he already been tired of her? Did she not do as he told her, did she not please him enough? These questions, as well as a bizarre jealousy for whomever he might be fucking instead of her, burned up inside of her, not allowing her to focus wholeheartedly on the most important part of her life.

Robert's condition had deteriorated in a frightening rapidity; the day after he had drunk six bottles of beer he returned home with a small bottle of Gordon's gin. He finished it in one night; when he woke up, instead of coffee he had two beers, "to kill the hangover" as he explained. That same night (namely, the previous night), he had again drunk a quart of gin.

Now, he was at work, and had already had three beers for breakfast; does he also drink at work? Lana wondered silently and a dark cloud engulfed her, choking her slowly, but, steadfastly.

She walked around the apartment, having nothing to do, not knowing what to do with herself, nor what to think. She was caught in a wild conflict and, even though she knew the proper solution was simple, she could not find a way to end it; certainly, if Stan had indeed grown tired of her so soon, it was for the best.

It meant no more distractions, late-night knocks on her door, quickies in the hall, or whichever wicked scenario he might have had in mind; however, Robert's gradual deterioration did create within Lana a strong desire for some escape, even if only temporary and ephemeral, just so she could muster up the courage and strength necessary to face the ugly monster of alcoholism determinedly.

Would she be able to do it, though? Did she possess the inner strength to face the monster that had taken up residence within Robert's very soul and mind? She didn't know, she kept asking herself these self-doubting questions, constantly feeling too weak and fragile to combat the monster face to face; she was too scared even to talk to Robert about his increased alcohol consumption.

She did give it a shot the previous night—gave him an opportunity to open up to her—when he came home with a quart of gin for the second time in a row, but, all he said was he needed to blow some steam off, because more and more of his clients were contemplating declaring bankruptcy, to avoid being prosecuted (and potentially imprisoned) for debt.

Hence, he claimed, the drink was the only way out he could find at the moment; the one thing that let him think somewhat clearly and, at the very least, provide a temporary haven from the shit quickly flooding the world and showing no mercy to no one, but the select few.

And as Lana wandered about the apartment, aimlessly stepping into rooms, then quickly stepping out after realizing there's nothing she's searching for and nothing to do to kill some time, more thoughts crossed her mind, a brutal slide-show came to life in front of her eyes; had Robert shown signs of psychical deterioration prior? Had he demonstrated signs of drinking prior to the past couple of nights?

Had the signs been there all the time (or, at least, for a far longer period than two measly days), and Lana simply had missed them, because she did not want to see? It could very well be the case... she realized in dread; in the past few months, Robert had always come home exhausted, rarely in a talkative mood.

He spent the evenings on the couch, staring absentmindedly at the TV, never complaining when Lana turned the channel to a reality-show, or some rom-com, like he used to back in the day. No, Robert would always complain, when Lana decided to watch a reality-show; normally, after a few complaints, he'd usually just pick up a book, put headphones on, and read, turning sideways as to avoid the temptation of raising his glance towards the screen.

The past few months, however, he had ceased to do so; he simply watched the reality-shows he used to call "trash" and "pathetic ways to control the mindless masses". He hadn't read for months; he simply worked, ate, and slept. Why didn't she notice before, with such clarity?

For Lana, there was no viable answer, nor any proper excuse; she should have seen it, she was the one that knew Robert the best. And yet, she didn't; perhaps, Jenna moving away had hit both of them equally hard and neither noticed the effects on the other.

She sat at the kitchen table, holding on to her cup of still steaming coffee, and lit a cigarette; these were also mere means to kill time until it was time to cook. Lana suddenly, and solemnly, wondered, whether there was a point in preparing a meal. The previous night Robert had barely eaten; in fact, she had to force-feed him a few spoonfuls of their meal, while all he was interested in was another hit of gin.

Were there any more reasons for his suddenly taking up drinking? Any underlying troubles plaguing him in silence, which he hid from her? She dreaded just the thought of it; she had believed their marriage to be based on honesty and openness. Naturally—just as soon as she realized that, up until very recently, that had been the case—she saw immediately the irony of that very belief.

She abruptly grew determined to talk about everything with Robert; she'd confront him about his drinking, pressure him into telling her how long it had been going on behind her back. She'd also have to confess her own wrongdoings; what would she say, if he asked for reason she committed adultery?

She didn't know; she couldn't answer the question truthfully even to herself. She had been fascinated by Stan's appearance from the get-go, she had enjoyed his initial flirt, the attraction she had seen gleaming in his eyes; moreover, she had been overly enraptured with his package, as well as his brutal demeanor, the signs of a coldhearted sadist.