La vendetta del vicino - Racconti Erotici

La vendetta del vicino

We have issues with our neighbours on the one side. They get really narked because sometimes guests to our house have parked on the road outside their house. Like it really matters for goodness sake, but hey ho, that’s why they dislike us.

It’s a husband and wife, and he’s not so bad, it seems to be the lardy middle age wife that likes to cause all the trouble. She’s about 4 stone overweight, 45years old and losing all her femininity, you know the sort. She comes home pissed on a Friday night and likes to flump up and down the street starting fights. The husband seems the long suffering type. He’s late forties I would guess, worry lines etched all over his face, and somewhat unkempt. God, I dread to think when he would have last had a good fuck! When would he have last wanted to with her to look at?!

Anyway, the number of times she’s waddled round, banging on our door and yelling about cars outside her house, and the number of times he’s come round, pulling her away and apologising when they realise the cars don’t even belong to any guest of ours, is uncountable. He’s been round complaining too now and then- I got the impression he was sent though!

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I was coming out of the house the other day on the way to work for an early shift. It was so still and peaceful, long before rush hour victims had even woken in their snugly beds. I’m not a great fan of early shifts, but I do like the walk to work at 5.30am. I feel like it’s mine and the world’s ...

... ‘confidential time’ together.

As I reached the bottom of our driveway I noticed the man from next door was rummaging in the back of his van outside his house. I had no distraction tactic to avoid speaking to him, so I just said a brief ‘Hi’, and continued walking. He never even bothered to look up.

I’d only just passed him when someone, I figured it must be him, grabbed me from behind. His hand was clamped firmly over my mouth against my screams and he bundled me into the back of his van.

The van door was slammed and it went dull. My eyes took a moment or two to adjust, and with the shock of what had just happened there was a moment of peace. I tuned back in and realised he was with me, kneeling next to me, and breathing heavily.

I sat up. “What are you doing you freak?”

Having caught his breath, he rummaged in a bag and brought out some rope.

“Just shut the fuck up bitch and don’t make me any madder than I am.”

He pushed me down on my back again and, straddling me, began tying my wrists. Panic rising in me now I kicked and struggled against him, my voice raising as I cried out for him to stop.

He leant right over me to secure the rope that bound my bound wrists to an unseen something. As he did, his t-shirt rose up a little and the hair below his belly button brushed my lips and nose. I could smell his scent, the soap on his skin but the oiliness of his work clothes. I couldn’t help it, the thought flickered in the back of my mind: If this wasn’t such a ...