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Neighbor of the Beast

by Helen E. H. Madden © 2009

 

Erotic FictionHe was at it again.

Neville curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket on his bed, pillow clasped over his head.  It was just barely Sunday, the clock on the nightstand reading a few minutes after midnight, and Neville's neighbor was once again entertaining guests.  The sound of raucous laughter came through the thin wall that separated their apartments. Music came through as well, the thumpa-thumpa of the bass so loud it threatened to crack the drywall like an eggshell and then crack Neville's skull too.  But that wasn't as bad as the other thumping sound, that of a headboard banging repeatedly against the wall, directly opposite of where Neville was trying to sleep.

"Ignore it," he muttered to himself, clutching his pillow tighter. "Just ignore it..."

But then he heard the sound of shattered glass and a woman's high-pitched giggle.  The thumping pace of the headboard increased.  The crucifix on the wall over Neville's head bounced in reaction against his side of the wall.  By the time the moaning and the screaming for God Almighty had started, Neville had tossed his pillow away and gotten down on his knees in fervent prayer.

"Dear Lord, make it stop!  Please, just make it stop!"

But God never listened to Neville, no matter how hard he prayed. Instead, the cacophony of lust only grew louder.  Now he could hear more voices, male and female, added to the babble.  They were too indistinct for Neville to say how many people he heard.  The voices blended together in a swelling ululation of ecstasy until their calls to each other and to God washed over Neville, leaving him drenched in sweat.  He wept even as he felt himself grow hard.

"Why? Oh God, why must you torment me?"

There was a sharp twang as a bed spring popped.  Then one by one, each member of the orgy reached their final destination, calling out their arrival in paradise with shouts of joy.  Neville was the last to come, alone on his side of the wall, but he didn't shout like the others.  His orgasm soaked the front of his pajamas, much to his undying shame.

*    *    *

Every day was the same.  The guests began arriving at the apartment next door early in the afternoon.  The noise started shortly after that. Usually it was just laughter, but then as the day turned to evening the music started, and then the laughter got louder.  By evening, the moaning and the groaning and the crashing and the cavorting were in full swing.  Through it all, a man's voice, deep and resonate, exhorted the party-goers to set free their inhibitions and enjoy the bodies given them by God. Neville spent the nights tossing and turning.  The lust coming from his neighbor's apartment was a palpable thing that tormented him to the point of despair.  It wasn't the lack of sleep he mourned, but the lack of peace.  Neville had done evil things in his time, things for which he knew he might never be forgiven, and as part of his penance he had given up the sins of the flesh.

But last night had nearly broken his resolve.

The noise from his neighbor's apartment took a brief break around three a.m.  Then around six it started up again. Neville woke to more moaning and groaning and banging of the headboard.  The aural orgy followed him from the bedroom to the kitchen, where he cooked sausages and eggs to the trilling sounds of a woman being fellated with much success.

"Oh yes!" she screamed.  "Yes!  Oh God!  More!  Your tongue! Oh my God, your tongue!"

Was she sitting on the counter opposite his, legs spread as her lover feasted on her clit?  Neville wondered as he slid his breakfast out of the frying pan and onto the plate.  But he shouldn't have, because the moment he imagined the goings-on next door he grew hard again, and then he had to suffer through breakfast with a throbbing erection, all the while listening to the lady in question return the favor of oral sex to her partner.

"Suck it, baby," the man growled as Neville put a fat, greasy sausage into his mouth.  "Suck it good!"

Suddenly breakfast seemed like a bad idea.

Around eight, Neville came out of his apartment to retrieve the Sunday paper.  As he crouched to pick it up, a curvaceous older woman dressed in a black leather miniskirt stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway.  She led a much younger man on a dog leash.  The man wore a leather vest and a pair of shorts so tight they molded to the curves of his ass, but it was the woman who captured Neville's gaze. His eyes followed the line of her leg up to the hem of her too-short skirt and lingered there, devouring the site of her pale, damp inner thighs until the woman cleared her throat.  Neville looked up, scarlet-faced with shame.

"You look like a good boy," she teased.  "Headed to church this morning?"

Neville stood abruptly, clutching his newspaper before him to hide his growing erection.  "No ma'am.  I don't go to church.  It's not for me."

"You don't?"  She laughed.  "Not even Luciente's church? You look like the type.  Actually, you look like an angel.  You should come with us. Brother Luciente is holding a special service today, and I'm sure you'd be more than welcome.  He takes all sinners, you know."

Neville frowned.  "Brother Luciente?"

"Well, I'd call him Father, but I'm a little too old for a daddy fetish."  She snorted.  "Come on, sweet angel.  If you don't like church, then Brother Luciente might be right up your alley. I know he's up mine."

"I can't."  Neville eased his way back to the door of his apartment. "I'm not allowed."

"Not allowed?  But why?  Are you being punished?  Did you do something bad?"  The woman waggled a finger at him.  "I know how to handle bad boys.  Don't I, Marcus?"

The young man on the leash blushed, but couldn't wipe the grin off his face.  His mistress gave Neville one final wave of her fingers.  Then they both went to the apartment next door.  Neville hurried back inside, and spent the rest of the morning safely locked away.

*    *    *


Neville had been in the apartment next to his on a few occasions, thought not since the current occupant had moved in.  He knew the place was a mirror image of his own.  Bedroom backed up against bedroom. Kitchen backed up against kitchen.  The bathrooms also lined up on either side of the wall, and the things Neville heard going on whenever he used the toilet were the stuff of wet dreams, or in Neville's case, nightmares.  Even in the living room, which was on the far side of the apartment, Neville couldn't escape the sighs and moans and cries of pleasure.  They started up again around noon, this time accompanied by sounds of torment -- the slap of leather on bare skin, the swish of a cane as it sliced through the air, the delighted screams of those who received such blows.  These sounds were the worst for Neville.  Up until those particular activities had started, he'd been able to quell his reactions to his neighbor's never-ending sex party by punishing himself with a flogger.  He spent the morning standing before a cross on the wall, striking himself with a leather cat.  The biting sting of the tails against his back and thighs had provided all the distraction he'd needed, and the pain left him feeling clean and pure.  But then as he punished himself and prayed, he heard an echo to his whipping followed by a low, animalistic groan.  Neville beat himself harder. The whip next door followed suit.  Neville's cries of pain mingled with the anonymous bellows of someone else's pleasure until suddenly the two became one and Neville found himself spraying semen all over the living room floor.

So flogging was out, and now things had gotten to such a point, he had to do something.  At five p.m., things in his neighbor's apartment went quiet again.  Neville pulled on his clothing and snuck out into the hallway.  He stood outside his neighbor's door, hand raised to knock. He would simply have to ask these people to keep it down. Mention the police and noise ordinances.  Threaten to call the landlord and complain.  Neville hated the idea of confronting his neighbor, but he simply couldn't live with the noise or the temptation any longer.  It was destroying him, corrupting him, and as a penitent sinner, that was the very last thing he needed.

He rapped on the door and waited.  Long moments crept by until finally he heard footsteps and the lock turning.

"Yeah?"

A man, tall, muscular and bronzed, stood in the open doorway.  He must have just stepped out of the shower.  His dark hair hung to his shoulders in damp waves.  His skin glowed with a fine wet sheen. Droplets of water hung in the dark curling hairs that spread across his chest. More hair ran down his torso in a thin trail that disappeared beneath the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Are you, uh, Brother Luciente?" Neville asked, recalling the name from his earlier conversation with the woman in the hall.

The man cocked an eyebrow at Neville, taking in his red sweater vest and horn-rimmed glasses.

"That's me.  What can I do you for?"

"I, uh, I can't sleep," Neville stuttered.

"Well, maybe I can help with that."

Before he could protest, the burly man took Neville by the wrist and pulled him into the apartment.

"Oh no!" Neville tried to get away but Luciente had a grip of iron.  He pulled until Neville was clear of the door.  It slammed shut behind them like a clang of doom.

"Easy. Relax." Luciente drew Neville along, leading him across a living room littered with naked, sleeping bodies.  Neville was astonished to see a large crucifix nailed to one of the walls.  Beneath it was the woman he'd seen earlier that morning, naked and splayed on the couch, still clutching the leash of her young man.  He snoozed with his face resting against her fleshy thighs.

"What is this place?" Neville demanded.

"A place of worship," Luciente replied.  "Here we honor God's greatest gifts to us."

"This is a church?" Neville squeaked in disbelief.  "No, I really shouldn't be in here.  I'm not allowed!"

"All things are allowed in here, my friend."  Luciente continued on, now wrapping his brawny arm around Neville's waist.  "God made our bodies for pleasure.  Why should we deny ourselves that?"

"You don't understand!"

Neville started to struggle, but Luciente just picked him up by the waist and carried him on.  When they reached the bedroom, the large man dumped him on the floor.  The king-sized bed was a jumble of tangled sheets and bare limbs.  The air was thick with the scents of sweat and semen.  Curls of acrid blue smoke rose up from a small ceramic ashtray on the nightstand and stung Neville's eyes.

"Is that... marijuana?"

"You want some?" Luciente pushed Neville toward the bed.  He picked up a fat twist of paper from the ashtray and offered it to his guest.  "It might help you relax."

"No.  Definitely no.  Look, this isn't what I came here for-"

Luciente tossed the blunt aside.  "No, I suppose not.  You look like you've got bigger things on your mind."

With a sweep of his hand, Luciente pulled off the bath towel and dropped it to the floor.  Neville gaped at the naked body before him.  The man's erection stood straight up.  It was thick and long, but not so long as to be ridiculous.  In fact, Neville would have described the proportions as divine, definitely the handiwork of God.

"Please," he whispered.  "I can't.  I'm forbidden..."

Luciente pulled Neville up and put a hand to his lips. "It's all right. God understands your need."

"That's the problem!  He understands and forbids—"

But Luciente didn't listen.  He cut off all further arguments with a lingering kiss and pushed Neville onto the bed.  One of the sleepers grunted and roused.  She looked up at Neville with a dreamy expression.

"Hello gorgeous," she murmured.  "Come to play in Eden?"

She reached toward him, pulling him down into the pile of naked bodies. She drew his glasses off and kissed him while Luciente worked on his pants, unfastening the belt and tugging at them until Neville lay there naked from the waist down.  The woman slid a hand between his legs to stroke his swollen cock.  Luciente slid another hand under Neville's sweater vest to tease his nipples.

"Oh God!" Neville wailed as waves of pleasure rippled through him.  "Oh God, please!"

"That's right, brother," Luciente said.  "Let your prayers to the All Mighty be joyous!"

Shadowy figures drifted in through the bedroom door and soon more hands stroked Neville's body.  He raised his head, squinting.  The older woman and her boy toy had roused and were now working their way up his legs, nuzzling and kissing as they went.  When they reached his groin, they kissed briefly then set to work licking and sucking Neville's cock until he felt an unholy fire burning in his loins.  Neville collapsed back on the pillow, thrashing and crying to Heaven.

"That's it!" Luciente cried.  "Don't hold back.  Give in to all your desires.  God made the human form for pleasure, and why should we deny ourselves?  Others would have you believe that to deny the flesh is the only way to salvation, and sex is a sin that will corrupt your soul. But I say the corruption of your misguided innocence will be your salvation..."

"But I'm not innocent at all!"

Neville's voice came out in a low, dangerous growl. Luciente looked up, startled.  He began to back away, but it was already too late.  The fire inside Neville had already built to an inferno.  The flames of his orgasm flared out of the tip of his cock, incinerating the couple who fellated him.  He opened his mouth and roared, releasing more flames and roasting the woman beside him.  The conflagration almost drowned out Luciente's screams of terror.  Almost.  But Neville could still hear him and he was so damned tired of that voice!  That voice that kept him up at all hours of the night, worshiping God with his body and soul, reveling in the holy delights that had been forever denied to him! Neville rose off the bed and turned toward Luciente, aiming his cock at the prophet of love and lust.  He stroked himself—once, twice, a third time—and let loose a stream of Hellfire on his unwitting tormentor.

Neville made short work of the rest of Luciente's flock, hosing them all down with his pent-up, unholy sexual frustration.  When at last he'd exhausted himself, he collapsed on the couch beneath the crucifix.  He slept well into the next day.  When he awoke, he surveyed the destruction and wept.

*    *    *

Fortunately, rent was not due for another week, so Neville had time to clean up the place.  He swept up the ashes of his victims and dumped them in the apartment building's furnace.  He did his best to scrub the scorch marks from the wall, but there was only so much he could do, and in the end that turned out to be for the best.  Several days later, when the landlord showed up looking for the missing rent, he knocked on Neville's door.

"Do you know where the hell Luciente Corazon is?"

The man was red-faced and sweating.  Neville studied the throbbing vein on his forehead and decided to play stupid.

"Um, I don't know.  He had a really loud party a while back. I was going to call you about it, but then I haven't heard anything from his place since."

"Well that must have been one hell of a party.  The whole place is trashed and it looks like the bastard's decided to skip out without paying his rent.  I sure as hell hope he doesn't come back here looking for his security deposit, because it's going to take all that and more to clean up the damage in there!"

"Wow.  That sounds really bad."

The landlord glared at Neville.  "You sure you don't know what happened?  There's burn marks on the walls and the carpet. You didn't hear the fire alarm go off or anything?"

"Uh, no.  But I did smell incense, I think.  Maybe he had an accident?"

It took the landlord a month to clean the apartment and repair the damage.  During that time, Neville slept peacefully every night.  His worries over temptation and noisy neighbors didn't start up again until he read the ad in the newspaper one morning.

"Apartment for rent in quiet building. One bedroom, full kitchen and bath. 14 Cherry Street, #667. Security deposit and one month's rent required in advance."

Neville closed the paper and sighed.  He prayed to God that his next neighbors would be the quiet type.

_______
© 2009 Helen E. H. Madden. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Helen E. H. Madden? Read her bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.


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