Suburbia Ch. 01

=========== Chapter 1: Moving In

The house in the middle of the block had stood uninhabited for a few years, ever since its previous owners had passed away. Having no children, and nobody to inherit it, the house had gone on the market. Now, towards the beginning of the school year, Wilma Johnson was showing the house off to a young woman, who seemed to be in her early 30s. All the housewives on the whole block came out of their houses to see her. She was definitely attractive, and apparently single. A bit astray from the typical families who inhabited this suburban neighborhood, but in any event she seemed like a calm, tranquil person. The sale was made, and the wives on the block awaited the permanent arrival of their newest neighbor.

Yet the summer passed into fall, and fall waned into winter, without any activity in the house. Then, just as the last snows were thawing out, an enormous moving truck, larger than any anybody had ever seen, pulled up to the house and started unloading things. The moving crew seemed normal enough, but there were two things that stood out as grossly errant, more to the housewives than anyone else. One, the owner of the house was not present; come and go in and out as the movers did, the woman who had purchased the house never showed herself. The second was one of the movers. He was a black man, gauged to be in the mid-20s. What struck the neighbors as odd, however, was that while the other movers were dressed in a standard, company uniform, this lone black man was continually changing clothes. First he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, then a military fitness uniform, then as day melted into night and the temperature cooled, military fatigues. After finishing their job, the moving men, including the oddly-dressed one, locked up the house, mounted up in their truck and left.

Another week passed before a black convertible was spotted parked in front of the house. At first it was seen sparingly during the day, for no more than an hour at a time, but by the time schools were letting out for summer vacation, the car was always there, only gone at night. Convening as they always did, the housewives tried to piece together what gossip they could. The only things they knew were that it was a woman, and she worked either at night or from home. If she worked at night, they "reasoned" she could only be doing one thing so soon after arriving in town: stripping in the city. Yet as much as some of them wanted to jump to conclusions, one member of the group adamantly refused.

"We should at least introduce ourselves first," Susan McCarty suggested.

Alice Tillman pounced on her. "Then you go by yourself, right now, and introduce yourself."

"Huh? Why me?"

"It was your idea. Plus, she's likely to be less defensive approached one-on-one."

Susan scowled. She hadn't anticipated things turning out so. She agreed begrudgingly and went over to the house. She rang the doorbell and heard a man's voice echoing through the house. Hmm, she has company, she thought, I'll just come back later, and turned to walk away when the door opened behind her. "Can I help you?" She turned back around, and who did she see but the moving man from the summer before, dressed in only a pair of workout shorts! She stared blankly for a moment before being jarred back to reality by him clearing his throat and repeating his question, this time with a definitive command tone to it. She squeaked, "I'm looking for the lady of the house, is she in?" The man scanned her for a moment, before cracking a dry smile. "Come in," he said, with that same authoritative tone of voice. She entered the house, closing the door behind her.

She looked around the house; it was set up beautifully, but not like a single woman would. There was definitely a man's touch at work here, but before she could investigate any further, his voice broke into her consciousness. "My name is Marcus, what's yours?"

"Uh, Susan. Susan McCarty."

"Nice to meet you, Susan. So, what exactly do you need?"

"Well, this house has been owned for a year now, and I had yet to see the owner... is she around?"

"No, and she won't be for some time. She's in the military, serving over in Iraq. She bought this house for when she gets out next year."

"I see. So you're house-sitting for her in the meantime?"

Marcus let out a wicked laugh. "I knew we were going to get around to that. See, I'm part owner of this house. The woman who bought it? My wife."

Susan was sure she hadn't heard right. White women marrying African-American men? Unheard of, especially in Suburbia. There wasn't a non-white soul on the entire block. And now there was a black man living not only in her town, but three doors down from her? "I'm sorry, did you say, wife?"

"As a matter of fact I did. I can tell you've probably never seen a black man in person your entire life, much less had sex with one." Marcus motioned to his chiseled physique. "And today just might be your lucky day. Let's face it, I've been in this neighborhood long enough to know what goes on, and who it goes on with. Your husband, for example, spends two nights a week in the city 'working.' Or at least that's what he tells you, I gather?" Susan was devastated. Although he exasperated himself trying to hide it from her, Susan knew that her husband, like every other husband on the block, kept a mistress in the city. She collapsed to the ground at hearing this from a complete stranger. Marcus put a shirt on and helped her up. "Let's take a walk shall we?"

The two left the house and headed for the far corner of the block. He pointed out every house on the block, who lived there, and who committed what indiscretions. For instance, Mr. Andrew Harrison directly across the street would purposely start arguments with his wife, Charlotte, to justify storming out of the house and not returning until the following morning. Where was he? In the city, in some other woman's apartment. Two doors down from them lived the Johnsons; the wife, Wilma, had sold them the house. Her husband, Michael, got his in before work with his secretary. The next house over was inhabited by the Robertsons, Bill and Heather. Their situation was by far the worst of all; Heather went to bed most nights knowing that Bill was in bed with another woman. "Why are they still together, you ask?" Marcus mused. "She's too afraid of what might happen if she were to leave him. She's never worked a day in her life, she couldn't sustain herself, and she'd more than likely lose custody of her two kids. So, she plays the happy housewife as best she can, keeping the house clean and food on the table." They arrived at the corner and turned around, with Marcus commenting on the houses on his side of the street until they returned to his place. "You'd be surprised how I manage to know so much, and maybe one day, if you act right, I'll show you. Later." He went inside, leaving Susan on the front porch bewildered.

The next couple of days went by fairly normally, with Randall, Susan's husband, staying at home and sleeping with her. But as much as Susan tried to get him to make love to her, he refused. Monday night he called from the office to say he would be working late. Susan began to get angry, but then she looked outside and saw Marcus's car in the driveway. Suddenly her tone changed, as she sweetly wished her hubby good night. She put the kids to bed soon after and then went into her own room. She gave herself a long look in the mirror, questioning the morality of her decision, then rationalizing that if her husband could have an affair, so could she. But dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, she hardly looked capable of even attracting another man, let alone sleeping with him. She put on a spaghetti strap tank and bikini set Randall had bought her for a beach trip the summer before. She loosely wrapped a silk skirt around her waist before ever so quietly tiptoeing out the door and down the street.

Marcus was in the basement when a green light mounted on the wall lit up. Who could be at the door at this hour, he pondered as he climbed the stairs. He was more than a little surprised to see Mrs. McCarty, and rather uncharacteristically dressed at that. "Mrs. McCarty, come on in... what business brings you by this late at night?"

"Oh, I'm not here on business. And please, call me Susan," she replied, putting an almost seductive tone in her voice that she hadn't used in a long time.

"Well then, Susan, can I offer you a drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Well, I do have a little something I came up with the recipe for while I was stationed in Italy. Do you like vodka?"

Oh no, Susan thought. Vodka lit her on fire; that was why she stopped drinking it. "I love vodka," she replied enthusiastically.

"Good, just a moment. Make yourself comfortable in the meantime." As Marcus turned towards the kitchen, she decided she would do just that. As she sat on the couch, she untied the strings on the sides of her bikini bottom, leaving it to fall if she should just happen to stand up. Eventually Marcus returned with two glasses filled with a pinkish-red concoction. "I call it Crimson Thunder," he said. "It's half vodka, half strawberry juice. Enjoy." He sat on the couch next to her and handed her the slightly less full of the two glasses.

"Bottoms up." Susan took a sip of her drink, letting it sit on her tongue for a few moments. God, it was good. She slowly drained the glass, savoring its taste as the concoction flowed smoothly across her teeth. She finished her drink and looked next to her at Marcus, who had barely touched his! More importantly, as soon as the last drop hit her stomach, Susan felt as if a rusted switch had been closed inside her. Her mind suddenly felt vibrant and alive, and she felt her pussy juices flow freer than they had in years. She didn't know if it was just the alcohol, the shirtless, hard-bodied man who was radiating pheromones like a bulb gives off light, the knowledge that she just didn't belong there, or perhaps all three. Her bikini was thoroughly soaked, and she could feel her cunt lips were open, in preparation for a satisfying cock to pass between them.

On the other hand, Marcus was a little thrown off. He knew she wanted sex the moment he saw her at the door, but judging by her current state, not even the sex machine that he was (according to his wife, anyway) would he be able to satisfy Susan. He excused himself, offering to prepare her another drink, which she sultrily accepted. He poured her a glass of straight juice, however. He could tell she wasn't intoxicated yet, and he planned to keep her that way. He returned to the living room, but before he could make it to the couch, Susan stood up and moved to meet him in the doorway. As she stood her bikini hit the floor, as she had expected; the wet splat it made came as a surprise however. Undaunted, she merely slipped off her sandals and took the glass from Marcus' hand. After downing its contents in three rapid gulps she guided him to the couch, where she straddled him and kissed him passionately. Marcus slipped his arms under her legs and grasped her by the shoulders. After a few moments of heated kissing, Marcus picked Susan up and effortlessly carried her upstairs! Normally he might ask a woman before doing something like that, but he could tell by the scent of Susan's aroused sex that she wasn't in the mood for answering any questions.

Once they got upstairs, Susan found herself pinned against a door, and took an arm from around Marcus' neck long enough to push it open. Marcus laid Susan down on the bed, then wasted no time taking his shorts off, letting free the biggest pecker Susan had ever laid eyes on! She cowered in terror: "My goodness, how big is that thing?"

"Last time I measured it at nine inches."

Susan was dumbstruck. Her husband Randall was the only man she had ever been with, and to say that he was six inches in length was probably being generous; not that she could remember, being as how she hadn't felt it for so long. She nervously reached out for it, half afraid, half anxious. Marcus couldn't help but grin as he brushed her hand away. "Let me," he offered gently as he untied the scarf around her waist, exposing her smoothly shaven cunt. "I didn't take you for a woman who shaved."

"Well, yes I do, for hygienic reasons."

"Understandable... a car that stays parked in the garage all the time still needs to be tuned, right?"

"True, true."

"Speaking of parking, how do you like it, parallel, angle, or perpendicular?"

"Hmm... let's see how you parallel park."

"Sounds good to me." Marcus lay between Susan's legs, and like a heat-seeking missile, his tip gravitated toward her slit. Susan reached down, parted her lips with two fingers on one hand while deftly feeding the monster past her cunt lips with the other two! Once she had pulled her hand away, Marcus took that as his cue to drop his pelvis straight down, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain as acceptingly or not, Susan's snatch was being stretched farther than it had ever been before!

Marcus slowly sexed Susan into a state of sheer ecstasy, thrusting slowly into her deepest recesses. Susan began scissoring her legs open and closed, varying the degree of tightness she put on Marcus' dick. "Mmm... you like that? You like feeling my big cock in your pussy?"

Susan threw her head back as she felt herself climax; she absolutely loved dirty talk. "Oh god yes, you make me feel so good."

"Hmm? What was that?"

"I said you make me feel good."

"Well, that's good and all, but I want you to tell me how your pussy feels."

"Oh, it feels so good... better than it has in a long time."

"Tell me how good your pussy feels."

"Oh, it fee-"

"No, not 'it.' I don't want to hear you say 'it.' I want to hear you say the word 'pussy.'"

"What?"

"It turns me on so much; I want you to say how your pussy feels."

For this man, Susan would have likely done anything to please him. "You make my pussy feel sooooooooooo good..."

"Mmm, I like that... what else?" he whispered in her ear, making her wetter by the letter.

"My pussy is so full..." She felt herself transforming as the words rolled off her tongue; it felt as if her inner slut was being brought to the surface. She started rattling on between moans: "God, my pussy is so full with your dick. Your dick is making my pussy cum over and over again... oh, ohhhh, oh god, I'm cumming again!" Susan was on the verge of a mind-numbing orgasm, and Marcus' elbows nearly buckled from the pressure that was being applied to his member by the contracting cunt he was buried up to his scrotum in! When Marcus and Susan locked eyes once again, she had a different look in her eyes. No longer was she the subdued housewife he had met earlier that week; here beneath him laid a woman who had been sexually reawakened. Here beneath him lay a woman who had been reminded of what it felt like to be truly enjoyed by a man, and to enjoy him as well. But most importantly, in the here and now, here beneath him lay a woman who had a large black cock inside her, and was eager to make that cock overflow her little white pussy with its sperm. She pulled her legs open and uttered three simple words:

"Fuck... me... NOW!"

Marcus cracked a grin. "Yes, ma'am," he replied as he propped himself up on one knee, careful not to pull out of her. He placed a leg over her hip then turned Susan on her side so that he was straddling one of her legs while she held the other in the air. Where he had been slowly making love to her, there was no such animal right now. This woman wanted to be fucked, and that was exactly what she was going to get. He pulled her down onto his rod as far as she would allow him to enter her, and then began mercilessly pounding away at her helpless pussy. Susan was almost in shock. She kept cumming over and over again until she was in the throes of one constant, never-ending climax. She rode this wave of sheer pleasure until she felt like Marcus pushing every inch of cock he had into her, and then some! Susan felt as if her cervix was going to be torn from her vagina, and both she and her lover let out deafening roars as Susan's hot box imploded around Marcus' pecker, causing him to pump shot after shot of jizz into her until it flowed back out! As if that weren't enough, Susan crawled away from underneath Marcus, finally freeing her pussy of its ravager, and stuck as many of her fingers into her cunt as deep as she could get them. She sighed in contentment as she pulled his sticky cum out of her soaking wet sex. Her fingers looked like they were covered in spider webs, until she put her hand to her mouth and licked each and every one of her fingers clean!

Meanwhile, Marcus could only shake his head at the spectacle unfolding before him. "So...?"

"So...what?"

"What's going through your mind right now?"

Susan sighed wistfully. "Reality. I have to get home."

Marcus shrugged. "Yeah, that much I expected. If this reached the wrong ears, or fell under the wrong eyes..."

Susan's eyes grew wide as saucers. "Randall might divorce me."

"Exactly."

Susan hyperventilated for a few brief moments, and then collected herself. It was only 10:30 at night, there was no way Randall was coming home that night. She and Marcus sat in the living room talking for a few minutes before asking Marcus to walk her to the door. After collecting her panties and Marcus' phone number, and a long good-bye kiss, she calmly went home, took a long, hot shower and went to bed.

The next day, Marcus woke up to a loud pounding at his front door. He got up to answer it as quickly as he could, but he needn't have rushed, because the knocking decreased neither in duration nor in loudness in the time it took him to get to the door. When he finally opened it, he was surprised again by Susan's presence, expect this time, she was bawling her eyes out. Right away, Marcus knew that somehow, someway, Randall had found out about last night and called Susan on it. Once the story came out, he had demanded a divorce. Marcus brought Susan in and sat her on the couch, where she confirmed his hypothesis. She held a document in one hand. "It's our pre-nup," she explained, "please, you have to help me... if he divorces me, I get nothing! Not my share of our joint-owned business, no house, I even lose custody of my children. Please, I am begging you, help me!"

Marcus felt responsibility to help her, not because he was the reason Randall wanted the divorce, but because to do anything less would allow Randall to get away with hypocritically accusing his wife of doing the same thing he'd been doing for who-knows-how long. Without a word he went into his basement. He emerged some great deal of time later with a videotape in hand. He popped the tape into his VCR and bade Susan to watch.

"Remember all that talk I made about who was doing what with whom?"

"Uh huh..."

"I have eyes and ears all over this city, and they all feed into my brain downstairs. Take a look." Susan looked up at the screen, and her emotions just went dead. Here, on this stranger's television set, were images of her husband having sex with one or more women. The images appeared to be from different times, but whether there were one or multiple women, there was one that was constant throughout the whole tape. It must have been his mistress, Susan gathered, the others brought in by her to fulfill his fantasies. Susan's glare remained fixed on the TV until Marcus' heightened voice snapped her out of her trance. "I've been saying that there's a clause in here: 'If the marriage is dissolved due to infidelity of one spouse, this agreement shall be declared null and void except in cases of alienation of affection.' In other words, if you prove that he's been cheating on you, if he tries to divorce you, you can take him to the bank, to the tune of five thousand dollars a month from what I'm reading here." Susan couldn't believe it. She had a way to rid herself of her bastard husband forever and still come out on top! "I'll give you a call later on," was all Susan said as she left, taking the tape with her.