Coventry Park Pt 01

Chapter 1

"Mommy, are you okay?" The voice of Connie's six-year-old son Jason sang through the locked bedroom door.

Connie was lying on her side on the bed, her white and yellow floral sundress bunched around her waist. I was spooned in behind her, plowing her pussy doggy-style. She had managed to keep her moans to a background lull, but she couldn't mask the creaking of the bedsprings or the squishy sounds her cunt was making.

A hushed "Oh God!" flew off her lips, followed by "Yes, honey, Mommy's fine."

With her newfound fear of getting caught, Connie's pussy squeezed my cock like an inflated blood-pressure cuff. She grabbed my wrists and tried to pry my hands off her waist, but I was too close to stop. I pushed my palms on her shoulders, rolled her onto her belly, and climbed aboard.

"What are you and Uncle Ted doing in there?" Jason asked.

I wasn't really Jason's uncle. I wasn't anyone's uncle. All the kids in Coventry Park called me Uncle Ted. Good ol' trustworthy Uncle Ted.

"We're fixing the bed, honey," Connie called back.

Nice recovery, Connie, I thought. A plausible excuse for the bed groaning like a rusty freighter being hauled from the ocean floor.

"Oh, okay," Jason said. "Can I go over to Tommy's?"

"Yes, dear."

Tommy was the next-door neighbor kid, the son of Chuck and Livvy Bresman. My affair with Livvy had ended six months earlier, a week before I'd bedded Connie.

The constriction of Connie's pussy around my dick was a pleasant surprise. After having two kids she was usually a bit on the sloppy side. Her ass was always nice and tight, though, and she never failed to gobble my cum like a hungry street urchin. She had never let her husband come in her mouth, she'd told me. In fact, she claimed she had only performed fellatio on him once. With me she enjoyed a steady diet of man-sauce, at least twice a week.

Connie's moans ratcheted up a notch as I punched my prick harder up her hole. I clamped my hand over her mouth, rested my weight on her back, and with her round butt molded to my groin, I gave her everything I had. Her breathing turned choppy and her body began to shimmy. With one last lurch I buried my dick inside her and exploded, bathing her womb with what felt like an aquarium-load of goo. She came, too, her ass cheeks jiggling in a series of mini-convulsions.

Then the bitch bit my hand.

"Shit!" I said, holding it up to my face. Two deep ruts were chomped into the flesh. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Connie jabbed her finger toward the door. "Shhh! Jasmine."

Jasmine was Connie and Gary's seven-year-old daughter. I had forgotten that the girl was in the house.

I knew it wasn't smart screwing Connie in her bedroom with her children home for the summer, but our relationship had grown dreary and any kind of danger provided some much-needed juice. Connie had been okay with it too at first, but lately she seemed more and more uptight. It didn't matter; our affair was nearing its end. Six months was close to the longest tryst I'd had with any of the wives in Coventry Park. I still had my thing with Crystal to fall back on. Crystal and Larry Taylor were the only African-American couple in our otherwise whitebread neighborhood.

The bedroom community of Coventry Park, Illinois, was an easy fifteen-mile commute to the city of Gantry, where most of the residents worked. I ventured to Gantry seldom. There was no need to; I worked from home, Coventry Park had a reasonable grocery store, and I did all my banking and stock trades over the Internet. I'd had a bit of success several years earlier in getting a novel published. It was a minor mystery-thriller—a bit formulaic, truth be told—but it had a good hardcover run and went to a second printing in paperback. I invested my modest earnings in the stock market, loading up on tech shares and selling them at the height of the dot-com boom. Lucky for me. My second novel was greeted by the critics and readers like a Muslim at a bar mitzvah. My publisher didn't offer me another deal, so I started my third book on spec. A quarter of the way through it my well ran dry. Writer's block is an understatement; my mind clogged up like a catch basin after a monsoon. Deciding I needed a change of venue, I moved from Chicago to Coventry Park and bought a four-level split. Almost all my neighbors were married couples with kids.

I rested on Connie's prostrate body, trying to catch my breath. My cock slithered from her pussy, coaxing out a huge glob of sperm. I was still wearing my shirt, and got up to find my pants. Connie must have felt the cum bubbling out of her cooze, because she launched off the bed and tore up the sheets. A dark stain of semen had bled into the powder-blue mattress.

"Shit!" she said. "How am I going to explain

this

to Gary?"

I figured it was now or never. "Gary, Gary, Gary! That's all you talk about anymore. What about us? I want you to leave him. I want you to get a divorce."

Connie plopped down on the bed and sank her face in her hands. Her long sandy hair closed around it like curtains. "I can't, Ted. Don't do this again. I told you, I won't break up this family." Her eyes lifted up to mine. I could see the gears turning behind them. "This is getting so...so fucking complicated. I think we need to end it."

I gave her my devastated look. "But—"

She flapped her hand in the air. "No, I've made up my mind. This has to stop."

I picked my pants up off the floor and looked out the south-side bay window. Connie's daughter Jasmine was staring at my dick the way she might a puppy in a pet-shop window. What could I do? I gave her a lopsided smile and hoped she wouldn't be too traumatized...and that she wouldn't tell her father.

"Do you think this is funny?" Connie said, glaring at me.

My face went into meltdown again. "No, I—"

"Maybe you'd better leave, Ted."

With a melancholy nod I pulled on my pants and shoes and headed for the front door. I stepped outside to a glorious early-July afternoon. The sun was a mass of gold in the sky, and a family of yellow finches fluttered in the crabapple tree in front of the house.

As I pointed myself for home, the smirk smoldering on my lips ignited into a big grin. It was time for a fresh start.

Chapter 2

Connie and Gary Macmillan lived four houses south of me. Between our homes were those of Chuck and Livvy Bresman and Crystal and Larry Taylor, our token black couple. The neighbors to my immediate south had just moved in and I hadn't had a chance to meet them yet. However, I

had

sneaked a peek at the wife through my second-floor bedroom window on moving day. Mid to late twenties, short auburn hair, cantaloupe-size breasts squeezed into a lime-green tube top, long lean legs stretching down from frayed denim cut-offs. Yummy. There would be time enough to get to know her later, I thought. With Connie and Livvy pissed at me, and Crystal still sharing my bed, things were glitchy enough without introducing another variable.

In my living room I punched *67 into the telephone pad followed by Crystal's number. I didn't want Larry to know I'd called. He was already suspicious enough, and not just because I was boffing his wife. Crystal hadn't fallen into my lap as easily as Livvy and Connie. I'd had to work at it, devise a plan. It had been worth it. I had never experienced a black woman before Crystal, and she had shown me more than a few things about wild, uninhibited jungle sex. Larry was a fool to have given her reason to stray, even if I had set it up myself.

Crystal answered the phone on the third ring, and I said, "Hey, baby, what's happening?" I could almost hear her smiling at the other end.

"I thought you had to work today?" she said.

"I do. I'm taking a break."

"I saw you coming from the Macmillans."

Oops. "I had to borrow a reference book from Gary. Good writing is based on good research, you know."

"What kind of books do you write again?"

"Mysteries," I lied. My sole output anymore was porn stories, which I scribbled for peanuts for a couple of Internet sites. The research part was true, though.

"Why don't you come over for a swim?" I said. My split-level boasted a twenty-by-forty-foot inground pool in the backyard. "Wear that little suit I like."

"Beast!" she said.

"Moo!"

Crystal laughed. "Give me ten minutes."

"Okay, but no more." I hung up the phone and sank back in my chair, congratulating myself on the ingenuity that had gone into creating this situation.

Crystal's husband Larry was a big man—six-foot-four and over two hundred and fifty pounds. He had played football in college but blew out a knee, so after graduation he went into the sports promotion business—setting up celebrity banquets and signings and the like. A year earlier he had joined a firm in Gantry, bought a house in Coventry Park, and became an instant neighborhood hit with his A-list contacts. From the first day I met him I knew he had a roving eye. Whenever we were alone he would make some crude comment about this bitch or that.

One afternoon he saw Alicia leaving my house and corralled me after to get the scoop. Women coming and going from my place wasn't unusual; I was single, able to date whomever I pleased. But I wasn't big on dating. Alicia was an escort, a high-priced one, but an escort all the same. I didn't tell Larry that. I let him think she was one of a countless bevy of beauties in my little black book.

"Shee-it, man!" he said later, as we chugged beers around my pool. "That lady is hot stuff. You're one lucky dude."

"You're pretty lucky yourself," I said, "having Crystal to come home to every night."

He shrugged and made a face. "I suppose. But it gets stale after a while. You know, same old same old? Sometimes the stew needs a little spice."

That was the hook I needed—Alicia.

The next time I invited her over, I let Larry know she was coming and suggested he stop by.

"Really?" he said. "That'd be great, man. Not that I—"

"Of course not," I said.

Alicia wore her tightest red dress, laughed at all of Larry's jokes, and took every opportunity to touch his hand or arm or thigh. When I suggested we go for a swim, Larry's eyes lit up like Fourth of July sparklers. Crystal was at her mother's for a few days so he had no one to report to. He went home to change and came back wearing black boxer-style swim trunks. He and I adjourned to the back deck, and when Alicia made her entrance through the glass patio doors, his eyes nearly blew from his skull. She wore the skimpiest pink string-bikini, the triangles over her nipples the size of matchbook covers, the thong a mere thread between her ass cheeks. She sashayed past us, dived into the pool, and came back up, her nipples half-inch prongs under her top. She cast Larry a seductive smile and said, "Come on in, boys. The water's great."

Larry didn't need to be asked twice. He stood up, and I almost gasped. It looked like he had a bazooka hidden under his swim trunks. The black nylon was stretched out so far I thought it might explode. He walked over to the diving board and with an exaggerated bounce sprang high into the air and split the water headfirst. He emerged from the frothy wake, nappy curls shaking, and swam toward Alicia, who was standing in water up to her neck. Her arms encircled his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist. For the next few minutes they frolicked and laughed like two school kids on the first day of summer camp.

I watched, smiling, as Alicia played her little flirting games. But when Larry tried to kiss her she turned her head away. She was under strict orders: tease the stallion but don't breed him. When I thought Larry was sufficiently aroused, I fetched a pitcher of margaritas from the kitchen fridge and called out, "Refreshments!" Larry looked disappointed as Alicia climbed the ladder in front of him, her firm round buttocks tantalizing his nose. We sat on chaises and sipped the frothy green brew, and Alicia said, "Are we still going to the playoff game tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," I said. "Is Mandy still on board?"

"Yeah, she's excited. She's never been to a Bulls game."

"You got Bulls playoff tickets?" Larry asked, wide-eyed.

"Yeah," I said. "Hey, I never thought...I've got an extra one. Since Crystal's away, would you like to join us?"

"Would I! When are you leaving?"

"I'm picking up the girls in Gantry at five. That'll get us to Chicago around seven."

"Great," Larry said. "I got Friday off." He rubbed his hands together. "Party time!"

Chapter 3

The next afternoon at four-thirty, Larry and I sped off to Gantry in my red Ford Explorer. Larry wore gray wool slacks and a black silk shirt open halfway down his chest, revealing a coal-colored mat of thick, curly hair.

When we picked up the girls at Alicia's apartment, I saw that she had squeezed into a tight white dress that barely covered her crotch and displayed more tit than it concealed. Mandy had opted for a yellow halter top that showed off her flat tanned belly and the diamond stud in her navel. Her cream-colored, skin-tight capri pants molded to every mouth-watering contour of her ass and thighs and stopped halfway down her calves. She sat up front with me while Larry and Alicia snuggled in the back. I watched them in the rearview mirror as I drove. They made out like a couple of teenagers—kissing with tongues, Larry's big black hand under Alicia's dress, her small white hand mauling his cock through his pants. I didn't think they would last the two-hour drive to Chicago.

To my surprise, we arrived at the United Center without incident and watched the Bulls clobber the Pistons. Larry and Alicia held hands the entire game, sipping beers, occasionally smooching. After the game we went to a club for a few drinks, and Larry and Alicia danced...sort of. It was more like a dry hump, with Larry squeezing Alicia's ass cheeks in his black monster mitts while she worked her leg up and down between his thighs.

I said to Mandy, "Did Alicia fill you in?"

She nodded, sipping her creamy pink drink through a cocktail straw. "Yeah. Everything's ready."

"How many cameras?"

"Six. One in each corner and two for close-ups."

Larry and Alicia returned to the table and I checked my watch. "Shit. Look at the time. We should be heading back."

Alicia's bottom lip curled in a pout. "Do we have to? It's still early."

"I have an eight a.m. meeting in Gantry with a publisher," I said. "I can't miss it."

Mandy gave me her own little-girl frown. "Come on, Ted, don't be a party-pooper." Her hand was under the table, no doubt on Larry's thigh.

I held up my palms. "Girls!"

"I don't have anything going on tomorrow," Larry said. "Why don't I show the ladies a good time tonight, and we can stay over and catch the train in the morning?"

Alicia and Mandy started bouncing in their seats.

"You don't mind?" I asked him.

He draped his arms over the girls' shoulders. "Not at all. It's the least I can do for these pretty little things."

"You girls okay with that?"

"Yes, please, Daddy!" Alicia said, cracking a big smile.

The little vixen. She knew that Daddy stuff got me going.

"Okay," I said. "Be good."

"We will," Mandy said, tonguing the end of her straw through a smirk.

I gave both girls a peck on the cheek and left.

***

The next afternoon around two, I was cutting my front lawn when a white FedEx van pulled into my driveway. I hadn't seen Larry yet, assumed he was still crashed out. I took the pasteboard envelope from the driver and went inside. In my excited state I had to fight with the tear-strip to get it open. Inside I found six mini-DVDs in jewel cases. I took them to the den, fired up the computer, and spent the rest of the day editing them on my hard drive. At three in the morning I burned the final version onto a regular DVD, went to bed, and masturbated myself to sleep.

***

The next morning—Saturday—I drove to Gantry and dropped off the DVD at the FedEx office.

At six that evening I saw Larry's silver Dodge Caravan pull into his driveway. When I went over to speak to him, he seemed a little put-offish.

"How did it go the other night?" I asked.

"Okay," he said, avoiding my eyes.

"Did the girls behave themselves?"

He gave me a funny look. "Sure."

"When did you get home?"

"What are you, a cop?" His anger was showing.

I held up my hands. "Hey, no harm intended."

"I rented two rooms at the Wyandotte. We caught the nine o'clock train yesterday morning, and I got home around noon."

"Have fun?" I asked.

A slow grin crawled onto his face. "You could say that."

***

The next morning around eleven I saw Crystal's tan Toyota pull into her driveway. Standing at my upstairs bedroom window, I focused my binoculars on her tight round ass as she reached into the back seat for a small suitcase. She was twenty-seven years old and childless, though Larry had told me they were trying for a baby. She was wearing black stretch-pants and a white blouse with the top three buttons undone, revealing a luscious display of milk-chocolate cleavage. Her breasts weren't that big—maybe baseball-sized—but they looked very firm. Her whole body was trim and fit from the many hours she and Larry spent at the gym.

As her cute fanny wiggled toward the front door, a FedEx truck pulled up. She accepted the package from the driver, looked at it strangely, then went in the house.

Now it was a waiting game.

I decided to give it three days. Unless I had misjudged her, I didn't think she would confront Larry directly. She was obviously the subservient one in the relationship, as shy and reserved as Larry was boisterous and outgoing. I figured she would let things simmer for a while, and then, when she needed release, I'd be there.

Chapter 4

Three days later, a Wednesday, I was watering my front flowerbeds when I saw Crystal checking her mailbox. I waved to her and she waved back, forcing a smile. I walked down the two houses that separated us while she waited on the front stoop. It was going to be a hot one. Only noon and already a sticky haze was forming. The dense smell of fresh-mowed grass lay thick in the air.

"Hey," I said.

"Hi, Ted," she replied.

"How was the trip to your mom's?'

"Good." Her eyes looked like they wanted to run away.

"Everything okay?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I don't know. You seem...nervous or something."

She didn't speak for a few seconds, then: "I guess I

am

a little depressed."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shrugged.

"Sometimes it's good to get it out," I said.

She didn't answer.

"Listen, it's going to be a scorcher. Why don't you come over and relax with me around the pool? You look like you could use it."

"It's nice of you to offer, Ted, but—"

"Come on," I whined.

She gave me a demure, closed-mouth smile. "Okay."

"Half an hour?"

"Sure."

***

Thirty minutes later Crystal rang my doorbell. I was disappointed to find her wearing clothes instead of a swimsuit, even though the rolled cuffs of her beige cotton shorts revealed two mouth-watering bulges of dusky brown thigh. I glanced at her chest, hoping to see some nipple, but was rebuffed by the shadow of a bra through her white chemise.

"Come in," I said. "I've got a pitcher of margaritas chilling in the freezer."

I retrieved the margaritas and two frosted glasses and led the way to the back deck. We sat on green plastic patio chairs by a round aluminum table. Crystal set her straw-weave handbag and towel on the deck floor beside her while I poured the drinks.

"A little liquid relaxation," I said, handing her a glass.