Part five: The Filth Is Out There
So far: Suburban couple Max and Lyla have been having a filthy four-way with their naughty neighbours, Blake and Claire. But the relationship is starting to unravel. Now Lyla has discovered that Claire is secretly cradle-snatching with Dan, the teenage gardener over the road, while the blackmail notes bank manager Blake keeps receiving are getting more explicit…
Lyla was in heaven. For one night only she had Blake all to herself. His long body was draped the full length of his prissily plush sofa. He was still in his work suit. Even his jacket was fastened modishly high as Lyla started work, popping his buttons one by one. She was straddling his low, narrow waist and she sighed as the slick lining made the jacket slide, revealing a perfectly-pressed white shirt. Lyla knew Blake ironed his own shirts. He might look like a typical bank manager, but he was no dinosaur. Blake was a whirlpool of delicious contradiction. On the floor lay their plates. Blake loved Lyla’s cooking.
“Something light and spicy,” he’d said on the phone when they’d been planning their perfect evening. Claire was away for the whole weekend visiting her parents and Max was out at some rush building job. Lyla had cooked pakoras from her mother’s secret recipe.
Lyla released Blake’s cock. It was so different to Max’s, she thought. Lyla’s boyfriend had a big cock, in perfect proportion with his big, bad body. It was hefty, thick and took Lyla’s breath away. Early in their relationship Max had liked making Lyla beg for his cock. Beg to see it, to touch it, to taste it. Beg for it in her c**t.
But Blake was different. He was a smaller man. His cock was smaller. But Blake’s cock had secrets. It looked almost innocent, but it had ways with its angles and its curve. Blake hit places inside her she couldn’t believe. And Blake’s cock, with its more elegant proportions, was perfect – so perfect – for her arse.
Lyla didn’t normally wear stockings, but she knew that Blake would gasp when he saw them, so tonight she had. Black opaque hold-ups and a black shift dress. Fully dressed, she looked every bit as buttoned-up and respectable as Blake. At work someone had asked her if she were going for an interview, but now, bent over the back of the chintzy sofa with her dress up round her waist and her knickers round her ankles, she was dressed to transgress. Blake was equally gorgeous. His shirt was open. His tie was still knotted but askew. He was otherwise naked. As he lubed up and placed the head of his cock at her arsehole, Lyla buried her face in the sofa cushions. Her long dark hair fell around her face like a cocoon. And she felt strangely safe, even with her body displayed and open.
“Fuck me. Fuck me, Blake. Fuck me in the arse.” Blake moaned and she felt him move gently, easing the head of his cock into her. A tiny part of her body made a complaint but the rest turned to butterscotch and ocean waves. Blake moved faster without it feeling too rushed or too hard. He vibrated inside her. One of his hands moved around and touched her clit. Things began to blur into sensation then. He took her. She was lost to the sensation of it. He touched her clit again. Then his fingers were inside her. She cried out.
“Do you like my cock up your arse? Do you? Do you?”
“Yes,” Lyla said – a sort of sob. And, oh, she really, really did. Her body got softer still and yet wonderfully alive with sensations. She was riding the edge of an orgasm now, hardly able to believe how strong it was promising to be.
“I’m going to come, Blake. God, I’m going to come.” Blake still had one hand working around her clit, and with the other he held her firmly at the waist. He supported her as she came.
Clip Art
A little later they lay together on the sofa.
“I found something I thought you might like,” Blake said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Hang on.” Blake untangled himself from their embrace and clambered onto the floor, grabbing his abandoned trousers. He rooted in the pockets.
“I bought these ages ago,” he said. “I’d completely forgotten about them until I was looking in my box of dirty bits and pieces, you know, where I keep my dress-up gear and allsorts? Aha!” From his trouser pocket Blake pulled a short sliver chain. On each end of the chain were elaborate metal devices, small but complex-looking with gripping pinchers, each like part of a strange metal flower. Lyla looked at them. They looked familiar but she’d never seen any in real life. Only in pictures.
“They’re…”
“They’re nipple clamps.”
“The kind that look like flowers.”
“Clovers.”
“They look kind of pinchy.”
“But good pinchy.”
“I’m not sure,” Lyla said, biting her lip. Blake didn’t say anything. He got up from his position sitting on the floor.
“I only tried them a few times. I really like…” He looked down then swallowed and met her eye again. “I really like pinching my nipples when I’m by myself. You know… When I’m wanking. So I thought these would be good. And they are. Really good.”
“So how come you stopped using them?”
“This was back when I was keeping all my deviant dalliances secret. I was too worried about Claire walking in and finding me,” Blake shrugged. “I’d kind of forgotten about them. But then I was looking through my stuff the other day and I found them. And I know you like a bit of roughness sometimes.”
“Maybe, sure, but I don’t really like things that hurt.”
“Well they hurt like a firm pinch,” Blake gave Lyla a look. “Which I know you like. See.” He brushed his open shirt out of the way and snapped one of the flower shaped clips onto his right nipple. He let out a hiss.
“Oh fuck.”
“Worse than you remembered?”
“Worse and better.” Blake glanced down at his cock. It was twitching its way back to hardness. “Hang on.” Blake bit his lip and then clipped his other nipple. “Oh fuck. Motherfucker.”
Lyla watched Blake’s cock twitch again. Looking at Blake in front of her – so beautifully brave and stoic – her c**t was hot, liquid heat. “I want to try.” Blake smiled. He took the clamps carefully off his own nipples. Lyla got up into a sitting position on the sofa and pulled off her dress. Blake straddled her lap.
“Do you want me to do it?” Blake said.
“Yes.” Lyla was scared. Her voice was shaky. She made herself sit on her hands. And it did feel like a firm pinch. A very firm twisting pinch. It felt like the way Max twisted her nipples. Lyla was glad she was very, very turned on. When Blake snapped the second clamp home Lyla was panting under him. Blake slipped one hand between her legs. He inhaled sharply. “That’s more than just the lube from earlier, isn’t it?”
“Fuck, yeah,” Lyla said. She was coasting her hips against his fingers, suddenly so brimful of arousal.
Out of nowhere Blake said, “I love sucking your boyfriend’s cock.” A picture flicked into Lyla’s mind. Max, her Max, deliciously naked, standing vain and proud. And Blake, there in front of him, on his knees, taking that big, porn-perfect cock into his mouth. With his free hand Blake pulled gently at the chain that connected the clamps. Lyla’s nipples sprang to fiery life. It was so sudden. She grabbed hold of Blake, her fingers curling tight in his lean biceps, and she came.
And then, later, after Blake had tucked the clamps into one of the garters she was wearing to keep her hold ups in place, he said, “I need to tell you something, Lyla. Someone is blackmailing me.”
Garden Party
It hadn’t been hard for Lyla to unravel the strands of what Blake had told her. He was being blackmailed. He hadn’t seen the blackmailer’s face but he did drive a boxy white van. Just like Dan, the gardener over the road who was involved with Claire. Sure, there were a lot of white vans around. But then Blake told Lyla that the blackmailer had taken pictures of him sucking Max’s cock in the kitchen. Pictures that must have been taken from Max and Lyla’s garden. And Max had got Dan to tidy up the garden only a week ago.
Lyla stormed across the road ready to tell Dan just what she thought of him. Blackmail was a crime. Sex wasn’t. But Dan wasn’t at home. Still working, his sweet old dear of a mother explained. It was nine o’clock and getting dark.
“He must be back soon,” Lyla said, looking up at the indigo sky. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, but he said he was working with your nice husband again.”
“Oh,” Lyla said, turning away. “Oh, thanks.”
Lyla ran back across the road and up the path to her own house. She grabbed her bike from the porch, jumped onto it and headed back through the open gate and onto the road. When she got to the address where Max was working, she saw his familiar dark blue Ford Transit parked up next to a white Bedford van just like Dan’s – and just like the one Blake has described. She was only a couple of blocks away from home and yet this was a world away from that crescent-shaped street of semis. This road, this avenue, was all big detached houses, set away from the road behind clipped privet. There was no sign of anyone in the darkening street so Lyla opened the gate and stepped into the front garden. The big house was clearly being renovated. There was a half-full yellow skip on the lawn and two of the windows were taped up. But even dilapidated, Lyla could see this was going to be something awesome when it was done – practically a mansion.
“Max!” she yelled. “Max! Are you around?”
“That you, babe?” The call that answered sounded very distant. “I’m round the back.” Lyla walked around the house. She felt nervous; unsure if Dan would be there, and if he was what she would say to him. Her anger at Blake’s obvious hurt and embarrassment, the anger that had sent her rushing across the road despite his protests, the anger that had given her confidence and chutzpah, had faded somewhere on her journey here…
For a big man, Max could move fast. As Lyla came around the side of big house, Max caught her and whirled her up against the wall.
“Hey babe,” he snarled in a dark voice that spoke to buried parts of Lyla’s brain. “This is something of a treat.”
“Max, is Dan here, I need to tell you…”
Max pushed a hand over Lyla’s mouth. “Oh hush, Lyla. Don’t worry. I’ve dealt with Dan.” He flicked his head back, indicating to Lyla to look over his shoulder. Behind him, Dan was tied to a large apple tree. He was topless, still in his ragged work jeans. Old hemp rope Lyla recognised was swathed artlessly – but very securely – around his torso. His hands were bound behind the tree’s trunk. The rope even caught and stoppered his mouth as it wound round and round the tree. Lyla gasped behind Max’s hand.
“Oh, yeah,” said Max. “Course I knew the little sleaze was having his way with Claire. Her choice. Fine. But I didn’t like it when he started bad mouthing her. Dumb little fuck. No one calls my beautiful Claire a fat tart. So I knocked him down, of course. Never thought he would be so turned on by my body on top of him. Kissed the fucker then. He loved it. Asked him if he liked to play games and now look at him. Been roped like that for half an hour, still rock hard.” Lyla tried to say something behind Max’s hand. She wanted to tell him about the blackmail. Tell him what he didn’t know about Dan. But Max’s hand tightened over her mouth as she tried to talk.
“Now, now, babe. Don’t spoil things. I got plans for Danny boy. Plans that have just got a whole lot better since you turned up. But you need to keep quiet, can you do that?’ Lyla shook her head.
“Oh. OK then babe.” He took his hand from her mouth.
Lyla inhaled hard, about to say something, but only managed, “Max, I…” before Max shoved a wad of cloth into her mouth.
“Sorry, babe,” Max said, “But if you can’t keep quiet it’ll have to be a gag.” He twisted her round so she faced the wall and tied the fabric in place, twisting her arms up behind her back. Then he marched her across the garden, while she struggled as hard as she could – hopeless in his big arms – and got her positioned against another tree, right next to Dan’s.
After a bit of rope and a bit more force there was nothing left for her to struggle with. “Right then,” said Max, dropping onto his knees in front of the both, “here’s my idea of a good time.” He reached out and curled his left fist around Dan’s cock, which was jutting through the fly of his jeans. He slipped his right hand under Lyla’s dress.
“Babe,” he said as his hand grazed the nipple clamps she had all but forgotten about, still tucked into her garter. “You brought me a present.” Dropping Dan’s cock, Max stood up. He took hold of the neckline of Lyla’s dress and ripped it open, making her cry out with rage from behind the gag. Her new dress. He smirked and grabbed her tits. She struggled against the tree and the ropes, but there was nothing she could do. Her gag was claggy and wet in her mouth as she tried to tell him to stop; the ropes were firm. Max snapped the clamps onto each of her nipples. Even as she cried out at the jolt of pain, a lightning rod of pleasure shot through her.
“Nice,” Max said, flipping the chain about and making her moan and struggle. Then he got back into his kneeling position, took Dan’s cock in one hand and Lyla’s aching c**t in the other.
“OK,” he said, “so here’s my game. Whichever one of you two can keep from coming the longest gets to get fucked. The loser stays tied up and watches the show.” And he set to work.
Read Part Six of Semi Detached II.
