The Neighbor Experiment – Chapter One

The Window

Marco was late again. She looked around their fifth-floor walkup apartment and sighed. The cramped space was littered with boxes still unpacked from the move, and the thought of emptying them into closets and shelves filled her with hopelessness. As small as the new place was, she knew they couldn’t afford it. As much as she wanted the change, she knew it was a mistake. Marco, however, had argued that the East Village was much closer to his architecture firm than Brooklyn, and that his shortened commute would give them more hours together, more opportunities to actually go out and enjoy the city again. But after two weeks in Manhattan, Marco wasn’t coming home any earlier, and Julie wondered whether her life might not become an endless series of failures at pleasures she couldn’t afford.

Thirty wasn’t a good age to be a New Yorker unless you were a banker or a lawyer. At twenty-five you could slum, share rooms, and eat cheap, as Julie had, but by thirty you hoped for some comfort, if only to enjoy those friends you’d had at twenty-five, who were now mostly bankers and lawyers. And she, well, she hated to even think it: she was a copywriter at an advertising firm. Part-time, no less. Ugh. What were they still doing here? After college she had arrived from Texas with dreams of becoming a famous novelist, but now those dreams seemed as pointless as cheap ceramic plates packed in newspaper, a burden to be hauled around from one place to another.

There was the key in the lock, finally. As she put down a plate, it occurred to her that there was nothing in the fridge for dinner, but she put that out of her mind. Marco set down his briefcase, yanked at his tie, and gave her his hangdog smile that could still make her feel as if she were the pretty girl in a black and white movie. “Kiss me,” she said from across the room, whose unchanged disarray he examined with clear annoyance. Five years ago that had been one of his most charming qualities – his Italian inability to hide his feelings, his Latin need to express his slightest shifts in mood – but now she wondered whether it wasn’t a sign of weakness, or a fundamental selfishness.

“Kiss me,” she said again, so he stepped across the room to take her in his arms. His lips touched hers politely, but she pressed back with a hunger, her tongue darting into his mouth, her teeth pinning his lower lip. “I want you to fuck me,” she said through another kiss, her hand pawing urgently at the front of his pants. He half laughed, half sighed, and pulled away to unbutton his shirt down the front, as methodically as if he were in a doctor’s office. She ignored this. She wanted him, and her face dove to his bared chest to take in that familiar, musky smell. Her nails scratched through the dark, curly hair there, so masculine over his flat, strong muscles. His chest hair had seemed so comically Italian the first time she had seen it, and then just so incredibly sexy. He had made her feel as if she had only ever taken boys to bed. God, that smell! She wanted his cock in her hand, inside of her, deep. She wanted her hands all over every naked inch of him.

He kissed the top of her head as her tongue circled his nipple, tickling then sucking it. He made no move to rip her clothes from her body, but her pussy was already drenched with the need to obliterate herself in fucking, and so as she kissed him, she scratched down the zipper at the back of her skirt and slid it over her ass until it fell to the floor at her bare feet. She impatiently unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it aside, where it landed on another cardboard box. She dropped to her knees, undid Marco’s pants, and yanked them to the floor. His underwear was beginning to bulge, and she bit at it like a playful savage. Marco looked on as if disconnected from the scene, almost as if he were amused by this rare burst of passion. She glanced away from his face and slid his underwear from his hips.

Marco’s cock: her only real knowledge of men’s dicks were those of the dozen lovers she’d had before marriage and the giant, throbbing things she occasionally saw online when she procrastinated from her writing, but Marco’s cock pleased her immensely. Since it was an Italian cock, it was uncircumcised, and this had also scared her at first – only because she wasn’t used to it, she figured – but now she loved the ways she could play with it, sliding back its foreskin with her hand to lick at its hidden ridges. She loved its secrets, and now she loved its blunt appearance – not particularly long, but thick enough for her, and manly. Now she was almost romantic about Marco’s cock, and she loved it girlishly, like an adorable pet that might have seemed dangerous at first, but which had been housetrained to her desire. There was the tattoo at his hipbone too, which they had once laughed about together – a stylized sun from his hippie Italian university days – but now it was just a part of him that she hardly saw anymore. His cock, however, she saw and she wanted, and she took it in her hand, gently stroking it as he stood as impassively as a Renaissance statue – proud, strong, capable, and…distant.

And now her tits: god she loved her own tits. They were not just breasts, which to a writer’s mind meant purely fleshy and feminine, or boobs, which sounded silicone-filled. No, they were tits, perky and full (at the edge of too full, perhaps, which was one of the main reasons she woke early every morning to keep herself sleek on long runs through the quiet city streets). They were pale and elastic, with their quarter-sized nipples eagerly turned up to meet your eyes. Although she had never had any sexual experiences with other women (nor did she think she wanted to), she fantasized about other women’s breasts because she fantasized about her own. Happy, bouncing tits, skipping through the world. She took her hand from Marco’s now stiff cock, flipped a lash of long, curly strawberry-blonde hair forward over her shoulder, thrust out her chest, and reached back to unclasp her bra, letting those tits fall ever so slightly to freedom. When it came to her tits, Marco couldn’t help himself. He stared as wondrously as a boy as she rose, took him by the hand, and led him over to the couch.

“I thought it was about time to re-inaugurate this couch,” she said, a line she had prepared while waiting for his arrival. It had won out over: “Do you realize we still haven’t had sex in our new apartment?” She flopped back onto the couch and quickly shimmied out of her cotton panties. She bought them in economical three-packs, but then men had never been too concerned about the sexiness of her panties when they got an eyeful of her long, firm legs, the pale birthmark at her hip – resembling a smudged kiss and mirroring Marco’s tattoo – and then that cute pussy with its innocent pucker. Innocent? She knew she was still a “good girl”, at least in the minds of others. In her own mind, however, she wasn’t that good of a girl at all, and sometimes she wished that in certain situations she could find the confidence to make the possibility of badness clear to others. Her “goodness” led her to feel that she was sometimes taken advantage of, particularly in New York City, but never mind – she was naked now, and confident of her body’s powers, and Marco, her love, was lowering his body down onto hers, his cock gently brushing against the moistened lips of her pussy.

“Kiss me!” she cried, and he did, and then his cock was inside her so quickly that she almost bit her tongue. She was wet enough. She always responded, which was gratifying, and god how she loved the feel of him moving back and forth inside of her, of him kissing her, of his warm body on top of her, of him fondling her breasts with his hands, which had always seemed so absurdly smooth for an architect’s, even if she knew his days were spent at a computer, not driving nails into plywood. Moaning gently, she held onto his strong ass and tried to draw him even deeper inside. His lips were at her nipple, and she needed to feel him deeper, deeper. She needed to be fucked hard.

“Oh Marco!” she cried, wanting to spur him on to something really dirty, wanting him to bite her, to make her forget everything except the feel of his hard cock inside. But Marco was in his own world. It was as if he didn’t hear her cries. His mouth left her breast to fall into the gap between her head and her shoulder. His strokes then came as regularly as a piston. “Fuck me,” she murmured into his ear, writhing beneath him in the hopes of spurring his lust, but he just kept pumping. She felt sweat break out on his cheek as he grunted towards a quick conclusion. And so she held the back of his head, ran her fingers distractedly through his hair, and stared up at the ceiling as he did his work. His marital duty – that’s what it felt like – and although it was pleasant enough, it wasn’t what she had wanted at all.
Then she felt his stickiness fill her, and heard his sigh of relief. Almost immediately he rolled over to lie beside her on the couch. She watched covertly as he stared up at the ceiling looking exhausted. Unable to suppress a sigh, she compensated by primly kissing him on the cheek. “There are some eggs,” she said. “I’ll make omelets.” Rising from the couch, she struggled against a sudden exhaustion of her own, then moved towards the bathroom to cover herself with a robe. When she came back out into the main room, Marco had put his boxers back on and was sitting at the computer, checking e-mails he had surely checked at work an hour ago. Julie rummaged through the kitchen boxes looking for a pan.

Dinner was over in a matter of minutes. Marco returned to the computer. Julie returned to the couch and flipped through a magazine without seeing its pages. It seemed they didn’t have anything to talk about. She was restless. She knew that she should write and take advantage of the time, but she also knew that if she sat at the computer then she would only surf the Internet and waste time. But wasn’t this wasting time, sitting on the couch in silence waiting for something to happen? She sighed again – loud enough for Marco to hear, but he didn’t, or pretended not to.

Frustrated, she began to pace the apartment, idly unpacking boxes and placing books and mementos on various shelves. As she stretched and bent, the room suddenly seemed suffocating, so she stepped over to the windows, which were shut against the noise of the traffic and the bars five floors below. The blinds were shut too, and so she raised them with a jerk on the cord, then grabbed at the window handle, wrenched it open, and breathed deeply. The spring had already turned warm, but the air that night was as cool as fresh water. She breathed it in and let it calm her. Down on the street college kids were laughing and calling out to one another. Life was down there, and life was why she had come to New York City, but she didn’t feel that she was living it anymore.

As her mind wandered down into the streets and the stories there, her eye caught a light in the building directly opposite. The building was as old as Marco and Julie’s, but while theirs had been converted into affordable apartments with cheap fixtures, the building opposite was one luxurious loft to a floor, inhabited by those bankers and lawyers on the opposite end of the tax bracket. Now she realized that the fifth-floor penthouse, with its plate-glass windows (and the roof garden above with its subtle lighting), was directly in their line of sight. The cavernous central room was brightly lit tonight, as was the adjacent bedroom that also looked out onto the street. In the main room an elegant couple was sitting at a large wooden table, apparently just having finished what Julie imagined had been a sumptuous dinner. Not omelets, in any case. A slim maid was clearing the dishes from the table as the woman leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. The man stood, came around the table, and placed a hand at the back of the woman’s neck to gently massage it. At this small show of intimacy, Julie realized that she was staring and was suddenly conscious that if she could see the couple so clearly, then surely they could see her too. She moved to hide herself behind the wall between the apartment’s two small windows, then felt doubly foolish for catching herself at being such a voyeur. That’s when the slim maid came out again and said something to the couple. “Will that be all, Mr. and Mrs. Something?” Julie murmured under her breath. And no – apparently that would not be all.

“Come over here, Marco,” Julie heard herself whisper just a minute later, her eyes wide with surprise. The maid had come out again as Mrs. Something had smoked and Mr. Something had rubbed her neck. She was pretty, the maid, with long black hair and pouty lips that made her look almost sullen. Tall but very thin in her uniform: black shoes, sheer black stockings, a crisp black skirt cut above the knee, and a white cotton shirt buttoned all the way up to her neck. The woman was smoking, her dark, golden hair sweeping down over her back. In profile her features looked sharp and haughty but very beautiful from Julie’s distance, and her pearl-colored dress was wrapped tightly around a slim, tanned body that the woman almost seemed to wield, rather than inhabit. Even the way she imperiously smoked her cigarette indicated that this woman was accustomed to getting absolutely anything she wanted. The man Julie assumed to be her husband rubbed her neck as if trying to soothe a wild tiger, as if aware of her danger but supremely confident of his capacity to tame it. He was tall, with a head of wild, dark hair flecked with gray, a blunt Roman nose, and a rich tan. His white shirt was open at the collar under a dark blue suit that accentuated a lithe, athletic body. Julie estimated that they were both about forty, impossibly wealthy, and utter strangers to the sort of worries that consumed her.

For one, they had a stylish maid (was she Latina?)…who had apparently done something wrong…who was now being ferociously upbraided by the man…whose hands had flown up to her mouth to stifle a scream…who was now being dragged over to the table by the man, her face pushed down to the wood by one of his strong hands as his other hand moved slowly up her long thighs to flap up her skirt over a surprisingly shapely ass…who now cried out and clamped shut her eyes as the man drew back and neatly spanked her with one sharp, quick flick of his palm…as the elegant woman sat watching everything while placidly smoking her cigarette.

“Come over here!” Julie whispered this time, as if she might be heard by the distant threesome. Through her thin robe she was distractedly clawing the flesh at her hip, although she did not feel it. Marco must have registered the shift in her voice and rose from the computer to join her at the window. First he impatiently looked down to the street, but when she gave no indication of what he was meant to be seeing, he followed her eyes out to the windows directly across. The woman had dashed out her cigarette in an ashtray and had risen to stand beside her presumed husband, who had snatched the maid’s white panties down to her knees and was leaving red patches across her twitching bottom with his palm. The maid did not attempt to resist. Her torso writhed on the dining table, her dark hair wildly spread over the polished wood, her succulent ass thrust out as if conscious of deserving the punishment…or as if she wanted to be hit, Julie thought to herself. She felt a hand grip her wrist. Marco was standing beside her, and she couldn’t remember how he had gotten there. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you see that?” she breathlessly responded, unwilling to pry her eyes from the scene. The man had leaned over to deeply kiss the woman in the pearl dress as his hand continued roughly fondling the gap between the maid’s legs. Then he removed the offending hand and used it to pry their kiss apart, offering his presumably moistened fingers to the woman’s mouth. She violently sucked at his index finger, as if inhaling the marrow from its bone, then roughly pushed him away and spanked the maid with a stroke of terrifying force. “Oh my god!” Julie cried in shock. “What should we do?”

Marco gripped her wrist tightly and pulled her away from the window. “What the hell are you doing?” he repeated once they were mostly hidden behind a solid wall. He did not look at her, however. His eyes remained fixed on the scene opposite as he clumsily tried to keep his and Julie’s bodies hidden. “I want to see!” she cried, struggling against his grip. Marco didn’t appear to have heard her. At least not until he said: “Turn off the lights.”

Julie scampered over to the switch and plunged them into darkness. Marco tentatively edged out towards the window again. He was being ridiculous, Julie decided, and so she returned to her spot with the clear view. The man had unzipped his pants as the woman in the pearl dress spanked the maid. Working his hand into his fly, he had pulled out a slab of cock that was hardening and stood straight out. As he watched the woman in the pearl dress efficiently hitting the writhing maid, he fondled himself. Then the woman leaned over and whispered something in the ear of the maid, who turned her head on the table to look at the woman and nodded numbly. The woman then kissed the maid tenderly on the cheek and helped her to stand. She took her in her arms and kissed her deeply, for an instant, before ripping the front of her shirt open with a violence that sent buttons pinging across the room – scattered specks of light from where Julie and Marco stood. The maid wore no bra. Her breasts were small but pert. Julie imagined that her nipples were so hard they ached.

“I guess she likes it,” Julie said incredulously. When Marco made no response, she looked over and saw that not only was he transfixed by the scene, but it had made him so hard that his cock was peeking out of his underwear. She noticed this, gulped, and said: “Show me your cock, Marco.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so excited. He glanced at her guiltily, as if she had just caught him looking at porn. Then he frowned and pulled his boxers up over the tip of his flesh.

“Fine,” Julie said coolly, unbolting her robe and flicking it from her shoulders so that it fell to the floor and left her naked before the window. She was swimmingly wet. She put a tentative finger to her pussy and felt the wetness there. Marco looked at her disapprovingly and broke off from the window to drag two folding chairs over to where they stood. He did it quickly, as if he didn’t want to miss a second of the movie.

The maid had taken the man’s cock deep into her mouth. He held her hair in his fist and pulled her even closer. The woman in the pearl dress had stripped to her underwear, in unison with Julie, to reveal an almost boyish body with narrow hips, small breasts (as tan as the rest of her) and long, sharp lines. Still in heels, she had lowered herself to her knees and was now on all fours behind the sucking maid. Like a dog, Julie thought disgustedly. The woman alternated between licking from behind at the joint of the maid’s spreading legs and drawing back to slap her crimson ass with what seemed like genuine fury. “It’s awful!” Julie cried. “Forcing her by the hair like that? And hitting?” She looked over at Marco for confirmation. Now sitting on the chair beside hers, he had lowered his underwear to his knees and was frantically stroking himself, as if in a trance. She felt a stronger wave of disgust rise up from her gut. This caused her to look down at herself, and she was astonished to discover that her fingers were dipping into her drenched cunt as frantically as Marco rubbed his cock. She was no less disgusted by this, but the feeling of disgust was no longer so important.

After that she didn’t give it another thought. Maybe these people shouldn’t be acting like this. Maybe she shouldn’t be watching the shocking things they were doing. Or maybe none of it mattered. She fondled her pussy with abandon, spreading her lips with one hand while stroking her clitoris with the other. When the woman crawled up next to the maid so that her mouth could share the taste of the man’s thrusting member, Julie actually felt her mouth water. The two women licked at it from either side – the maid looking terribly distraught, Julie noticed, but licking with even more abandon than the other woman. Soon she had again pulled up the maid to furiously manipulate her cunt while kissing her deeply. The maid swooned in either direction, as if she was drunk. Then she was forced down on the table again by the woman, her ass in the air. The man watched all of this as if he were a film director coldly observing the performance of a scene he’d written himself. When the sleek woman grabbed him by the cock and led him over to the maid’s offered ass, however, he followed without protest and rammed his cock so deeply into the maid’s bared gap that the poor girl banged the table with her fists. “Oh fucking fuck me, Marco!” Julie cried, one hand now pinching fiercely at a nipple.

She didn’t need to say it again. “Put your hands on the window sill,” he said, his voice thick and unrecognizable. She leapt to offer him her ass, and almost instantly she felt him spread her firm cheeks with his smooth hands, his thumb pressing dangerously at the pinch of her asshole. Then his cock was hard inside her pussy and feeling bigger than ever before. She loved it from behind. “Harder,” she said sharply, feeling a quick thrill at saying it as she imagined the woman across the street would. “Harder!” she commanded.

In the opposite window the man was still pitilessly fucking the maid on the table, but the woman had slithered up onto the table too, spreading her impossibly long legs wide and pulling the maid’s face towards her tanned and perfectly shaven vagina. It was a cruel gesture, again made with a yank of hair, but the maid lowered her mouth to the shining cunt with what seemed like gratitude, licking with great sweeps of her tongue like a desert wanderer discovering a moist oasis.

Julie pushed back hard against Marco’s thrusts and cupped a breast tightly in one hand, her forehead banging lightly against the glass of the window. After a while she begged to get on her knees and suck Marco as he watched the others. Unaccustomed to being so erotically explicit, she was out of her head now and wanted to be overwhelmed by fucking everywhere. She wanted Marco to be overwhelmed too. And she wanted to take his cock deeper than ever before, to taste every inch of it, to deeply inhale the overpoweringly sexy scent of the curly hair at its base. He was getting even harder as she licked and sucked. She had three fingers inside of herself now. “Fuck my mouth!” she gasped, and so he did, driving towards her throat almost callously, which was just how she had wanted it. “Tell me what they’re doing,” she said, her tongue slavering over his balls.

“They’re going to tie her up now,” he said, hesitantly at first, then gaining some confidence with the words. “Fuck. The man just swept everything off the table and threw the girl up onto it again. The woman has what looks like these scarves, and she’s tying the girl’s hands and feet to the table legs…so she’s spread-eagled on the table…fucking hell….” His hand at the back of Julie’s head stiffened and pulled her mouth further around his throbbing cock. She gagged and snapped away, but instantly came back for more, her tongue, then her mouth, smothering his flesh. “It’s so…fucking…good…,” Marco gasped. She didn’t know whether he meant her cock sucking or the deeds being done to the spread-eagled maid – both, probably – but she wanted to see for herself.

She pulled herself up to her chair, and Marco absently lowered himself down to his. He looked at Julie’s heaving breasts with their dilated areolae and he licked his lips. It was such a small gesture, but Julie found it so sexy that she almost came. Then he turned again like a drug addict to the window, and Julie did too. The man was on the table now fucking the bound maid, who tugged at her restraints like a wild animal, her hair whipping around in a frenzy. As he fucked her, the man nodded to the other woman, who stood with her sharp, sculpted ass to the window. Freed by the nod, she moved up onto the table on her knees, and facing the man, she lowered her snatch to the maid’s mouth. The maid seemed to know what was required of her, and she licked again. The licking calmed her writhing, and now she placidly licked and licked and let herself be fucked. The man and the woman made eye contact and seemed to smile. The woman raised her arms in the air and wiggled down further onto the maid’s tongue as if she was an oriental dancer. The man laughed victoriously.

Julie saw all of this, and then she saw Marco seeing it too while desperately stroking himself with his face madly set. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on circling her clitoris in tight, firm strokes, getting herself as close to orgasm as possible. When she opened her eyes, Marco was staring at her pussy and stroking himself even harder. She looked at his face. He looked insane. Her cunt felt as if it would gush forth an entire ocean any instant. Oh god, what were they doing? Marco’s mouth hung slightly open, his tongue teased at his bottom lip, as if he were imagining licking her pussy, which his eyes were still fixed upon. Then he glanced up to meet her stare. He was savage. She had never seen him like this. What was happening terrified her, but she was glad. And she knew she was about to explode.

Want to read more? The Neighbor Experiment is just $3.99 for all your digital reading devices, and you can see all buying options here: Experimental Books