Bad Walls Make For Good Neighbours

A tale of seduction, cuckqueanery and generalized evil in the style of wannabeboytoy, SeducedHylas, TheTalkMan and others. My first submission to Literotica, be please be kind!

*****

"Is *this* shirt okay?" I asked, coming out of the bedroom. It was the third I'd tried on, the second I'd ironed, and about the last I had time for before the taxi showed up to take us to dinner.

Lacie, my fiancee, was kneeling on the couch, one ear pressed to the wall. Her little black dress was rucked up over her knees and pulled tight across her adorable little behind, so I wasn't about to complain.

"Sh!" She said, waving a hand. "I think I can hear somebody."

"Probably," I said, shrugging. There had been a moving truck in front of the house half the day, and a couple of thick-necked beerbellies toting stuff back and forth into the apartment on the other side of the duplex for hours.

"Aren't you even a little curious?" Lacey said.

"Well," I began shoving the tails of my shirt into my pants, keeping a weather eye on the clock. "It's not like we're going anywhere. I'm sure we'll see whoever it is in a day or two."

"Oh!" Childish excitement crept into her voice. "I can definitely hear somebody. It's a man, I think?"

"A man?" Pushing the last of the fabric under the waistband, I buckled my belt. "I thought the landlord said it was a woman going in there?"

"No, it's definitely a man." She put one hand on the wall, fascinated. I walked up behind her and put my hands on her hips, admiring her slim form. My mother had called her a "tiny slip of a thing," when they'd been introduced, and it was hard to argue with that assessment. The fabric of the dress was silky to the touch, and I wondered what she was wearing underneath. Last anniversary, it'd been nothing. Lacie swatted my hand away. "Stop, Derek."

Rolling my eyes, I said. "the taxi'll be here any minute."

"He's talking to somebody, I think," Lacie pursed her lips. Tired of being ignored, I knelt on the cushion next to hers, and planted my own ear on the wall. There was a low, masculine murmur coming from next door, but I couldn't make out a word.

"Yeah he's definitely talking," I said. "Now can we just-"

"Listen!" She hissed, hitting me playfully. A woman's laugh, low but clear, passed through the drywall.

"There she is," I said quietly. If the sound could pass one way, it could go both ways.

"Think it's her boyfriend?" Lacie asked. Something thudded against the wall.

"Oh fuck!" That time, the man's voice came through clear as a bell. The wall thudded again, and we could hear our neighbour's low chuckle. "What are you doing?" Then there was a shuddering moan of male pleasure. Lacie and I looked at each other, wide-eyed; the wall thudded a third time, then became a steady rhythm. The painting above the couch started tapping the wall in time. We sprang back and stood up unison.

"Oookay," Lacie said. "I hope that's not-"

"Fuck! Baby how are you doing that?" The woman's reply was a low murmur, indistinct.

"-something we have to listen to every day." Lacie finished, raising her voice slightly.

"Yeah I hope we don't have to hear people having sex all the time!" I said, nodding, hoping the thinness of the walls would work in our favour. The thudding continued unabated. Lacie screwed up her face. I shrugged. Outside, a car horn blew. "Taxi's here," I said. "We gotta go." My fiancee made a disgusted face, and strode into the porch to find her heels. I followed, leaving the landscape on the wall to its own devices, gently keeping the beat.

- - -

"HelloOoo," I called into the darkened apartment, poking my head through the door. Behind me, Lacie giggled, but there was otherwise no answer. "Coast is clear," I said, and we entered, unsteadily. I reached for the switch, and she slapped my hand away.

"No. I've got other plans," she slurred. "C'mere." Lacie took a half-step towards me, then tripped in her shoes. I caught her easily, and scooped her lithe form up into my arms; she wrapped hers around my neck. "My hero," she said, and laughed as one of her heels *clonked* to the floor.

"I didn't like those shoes anyway." Lacie scissored her legs and sent the other flying across the room. "They hurt," she pouted. I grinned and kissed her hard, on the mouth.

"Come on, princess." I said. "Let's get you into the bedroom so you can rest those feet. I can think of a thing or two to help you feel better."

"Just one or two?" She said with a giggle as I carried her through the apartment. "Let's see - there's your penish, your tongue," Lacie stuck hers out, "your...fingers! That's got to be, like twelve at least!" We laughed as I carried her into the bedroom, and laid her gently down on the bed. The hem of her dress rucked up around the tops of her pale, slim thighs, and I could see no hint of panties hidden between them.

"Well, let's start with one, and work our way up to twelve," I said with a chuckle. Spreading her legs, I knelt on the bed and leaned forward, feeling the smooth flesh of her legs brushing past my cheeks as I did. In the dim light of the bedroom, I couldn't make out the prize that lay between them, but I could feel the heat as I brought my opened mouth closer-

THUD. The bedroom wall shook as something on the other side slammed into it. Lacie's legs clamped shut around my ears.

"You've got to be kidding," she said with a sigh. We waited for a moment, and there seemed to be no more noise forthcoming.

"Come on, honey." I said, pushing forward. Lacie's thighs relaxed, slightly. I began pushing her skirt up over her hips, and-

THUD. THUDthud. She insinuated a hand between her legs and began pushing my face away. Taking the hint, I sat back on my haunches as my fiancee scissored her legs together, sitting up.

"Maybe we can just ignore them?" I said, hopefully. There was a moment's silence, then the banging against the wall continued, quieter now but more rhythmic.

"You're joking." Lacie said, stone sober now. I could feel the glow of the drinks quickly fading. The woman on the other side moaned.

"God have these walls always been so thin?" She said, wondering. "Do you think that old man who used to live over there could hear us-" She gestured with one hand. "Y'know."

"I don't know," I said, unnaturally loudly. "It sure seems like it'd be real easy for someone next door to hear what was going on!" If they heard me, there was no sign, as there was no let-up in the rhythm. There was a long, guttural groan from the man. With a disgusted look on her face, Lacie swung her legs off the bed and padded into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Still kneeling on the bed, I let out a long, slow, breath through pursed lips. There was a wet, feminine moan from the other side of the wall, and my penis stirred. "Quiet, you." I murmured as I stood, yanking the tails of my shirt out of my pants. I left the bedroom and headed into the kitchen, followed by the pounding beat of our neighbors. "At least somebody's enjoying themselves."

I glanced around furtively, ensuring that the coast was clear, then opened the freezer door and plucked out a pack of cigarettes; it was tucked away in the back, behind an old tub of stew. I gently closed the freezer again, and slid open the patio door.

Out on the deck, the summer air was cool and sweet. I eased patio door shut, and lit up with the barbeque lighter, and took a long drag. The cigarette was stale - they'd been hiding in the freezer for a month or more - but as soon as the smoke hit my lungs, I could feel the tension melting away from my muscles. I took another drag and looked up, where a few lonely stars winkled, the rest hidden in the light pollution from the city. Eventually, somewhere behind me a door opened and I heard bare feet padding lightly against wood.

"Sorry, babe. This is the last one, I promise," I said, surreptitiously trying to jam the half-empty pack into my pants pocket.

There was a languid, feminine chuckle. "Don't worry, tiger. I won't tell anybody." Wheeling around on my heel, I saw a tall woman in a shimmery white dressing gown approaching on the other side of the half-wall that separated our side of the deck from that of the apartment next door. Long, loose curls of black hair were piled atop her head in a lazy arrangement.

"Oh shit, I thought you were my girlfriend, sorry."

The woman laughed again; she had a voice like slowly-poured whiskey over ice that set the base of my spine a-tingle. She walked over with a slow, deliberate stride, body moving with catlike grace toward the end of the deck, and leaned on the railing.

"I haven't been anybody's *girlfriend* in a very long time." In the dim light, I watched her as she produced her own cigarette from the depths of her robe. She looked older than Lacie and I, possibly as old as the two of us put together, but her mouth was still plush and full and shimmery with the remains of that evening's lip gloss, and her eyes were a vivid, shocking blue against the carefully-maintained deep brown of her skin. She placed the cigarette between her full lips and began patting herself. "Oh damn," she said. "Can I get a light?"

"Sure," I laughed. "Here." I handed over the barbeque lighter. The strong, handsome features of her face lit up in the brief flare from the Bic as she clicked the trigger. "So, that's not your boyfriend in there?" I asked, as delicately as I could.

"You heard us?" She took a long pull from the cigarette. "Damn cheap walls. I knew I shouldn't have trusted that greasy fuck of a landlord when I couldn't get him to stop staring at my tits." Unbidden, my eyes dropped to the thin fabric of her robe; it was voluminous but the folds were incapable of hiding the swelling bounty of her breasts, or the nipples as they thickened up in the night air. Was she wearing anything under there? Suddenly aware of what I was doing, my eyes flicked up to meet hers, crinkled in a mischievous grin. "No, he's not my boyfriend." As she handed the lighter back, I noticed her nails, well-kept but sharp, and painted a glittery pink to match her lipgloss.

"Tell you the truth, I don't even remember his name. John? Jerry? Jimmy? Something with a J." She shrugged, and a few coils of silky black hair came tumbling down over her shoulder. Giving me the once-over, she said, "what's your name, anyway? So long as we're sharing the house, there's no reason not to be neighbourly."

"I'm Derek," I offered her my hand to shake, and she did, with a warm, firm, long-fingered grip. "Derek Smythe. My girlf- *fiancee* is Lacie."

"Fiancee?" She said, exhaling a cloud of fragrant smoke and arching a carefully-plucked eyebrow. "Aren't you a little young to be getting married?"

"I'm 24!" I said, defensive. "My parents were, like, 19 or something when they got married. I'm out of school, making good money, no debt. I think it's about time."

That got another appraising look from my neighbor. "Just seems like a waste to me; a young man like you should be out sowing his oats, honing his sexual prowess, not settling down." She turned back towards the yard and took another long drag. "At least tell me you're with someone who can really appreciate what you've got to offer, and not some silly child with more romantic notions than experience."

My brow furrowed as I tried to parse what she was saying. "Well. I mean, Lacie and I have been together since high school, if that's what you mean. I'd never be with someone who was young-"

She laughed in a short bark that cut me off before I could complete my thought. "No no no, honey. I meant someone with *more* experience, not *less*. High school sweethearts are lovely, but you're just setting that girl up for disappointment. She won't be able to hang on to you."

"Excuse me?" I felt my face flushing. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Oh I'm sorry, hon." She extended one long-nailed hand. "I'm Roxanne." Despite myself, I took her hand and shook it. Her skin was smooth and warm and dry and her fingers lingered in my palm just a few seconds longer than they had to. "I've seen it a thousand times - some young stud like yourself finds a girl his own age to marry, settle down, breed a few kids with, all the while not realizing he's making himself into a perfect target for a sexually-aware older woman on the prowl, just aching for the next conquest. And they're such *easy* conquests."

Roxanne stubbed her cigarette out on the rail of the deck and threw it into the yard. "You all think you want some pretty little wifey, some docile pretty doll who'll come running when you snap your fingers." She snapped hers. "But what every young stud like yourself needs, deep down, is a woman, a *real* woman to take the reins and show him what real pleasure is. An older woman, a woman with a mature body, a fully-flowered sexuality, and not a single fuck to give about what you want. To a woman like that, a young man like yourself is like prey to a predator - just waiting to be snapped up. And once you've been snapped up just *once* you'll never be able to give it up, you'll never be able to go back to your safe, boring bed you share with wifey." She grinned wolfishly. "A mature woman knows every inch of her body in a way that no girl ever could, and knows how to *use* it, knows how to make a dumb young stud addicted to it." I don't even think she was talking to me, caught up in the rhythm of her own words, carried away by the arousal in her voice, by the sexuality that dripped from her plush lips.

"Um, okay." I said, not quite sure how to follow up her tirade, and a little dazed by the flood of words. "Ow, fuck!" I yelped as the cherry of my own cigarette, having burned down to the filter, scorched my knuckles. I dropped the smoke and kicked it over the side of the deck, into the grass. "I'll, uh, I'll see you around I guess." I began backing away, towards the patio door.

"I'm sure you will." Roxanne gave me a wink, and turned away towards the yard again. I slammed the patio door closed harder than I thought, and in the silence of our darkened kitchen, discovered that I was panting hard, and carrying a significant swelling in my pants.

"That was intense," I said to nobody in particular. After stashing the remaining cigarettes back in the freezer, I crept slowly back into the bedroom, where I found Lacie in bed, wrapped up in a thick terrycloth robe. She stirred as I crawled up into bed with her.

"Smoking?" She mumbled, half-asleep.

"Last one babe, I swear," we both said in unison.

"I've heard that before," Lacie said. "Did I hear you talking to somebody out there?"

"Yeah, just the neighbour."

"Oh?" My fiancee rolled over. "What are they like?"

"She." I corrected. "It's just her over there."

"Well what's she like, then?"

I tried to curl into her while keeping my still-deflating cock away from Lacie's body.

"She's uh- nice, I guess. We weren't talking long. But I let her know we could hear her. Them."

"Thank *god*. I couldn't put up with much more of *that*."

"No I took care of it." I slid a hand inside her robe. "Do you wanna pick up where we left off?"

She pushed my fingers away and pulled the robe tighter. "Tomorrow. It's late and I'm starting to feel hungover and I just want to go to sleep, 'kay?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." I rolled over onto my back, and adjusted my cock. "Tomorrow." She'd be too sick to move tomorrow, I knew. As Lacie began to snore gently, I wondered if I could rub one out real quick without her noticing, thought better of it, cuddled into my fiancee and went to sleep.

- - -

The next day found us huddled together on the couch, recovering and watching a Property Brothers marathon on HGTV.

"I don't understand why they just don't get married and get it over with." I said, idly toying with Lacie's hair as it lay in my lap.

"Uh, they're brothers?" She said quietly, trying not to let her skull explode.

"Really? I don't see it."

She punched me lightly on the leg, laughing. "You dope. What's on after this?"

"House Hunters International, i.e., Ridiculously Rich People Agonizing Over Terrible Houses we could nev-"

The doorbell rang before I could finish. Lacie and I shared a look. "Were you expecting anybody?" I said. She shook her head. The bell rang again, and Lacie winced.

"Get rid of them, will you? I'm not in the mood to see anybody." She gestured at herself, wrapped up in flannel pjs and a dingy robe.

"I'm not exactly dressed to receive company myself," I said with a laugh, gingerly laying her head on a couch cushion as I stood, so as not to shatter it.

"Good morning!" Roxanne said brightly as I opened the door. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that feathered out into those long, loose curls; her eyes, an icy-blue in the daylight, twinkled mischievously and a half-smile played across her plush, glossy-pink lips as she brushed past me and into the apartment, and I noted how tall she was, her eyes were level with my own. Our neighbor was dressed casually, as though headed to the gym: an unzipped navy hoodie showed off the close-fitted blue tanktop whose neckline skimmed low over the tightly bound flesh of her sizeable breasts and lay flat across the toned stretch of her abdomen before ending an inch or two above the adorable divot of her navel; charcoal-grey leggings showed off every ripple and curve of her legs, clearly well-muscled and thicker than Lacie's lean stems, ending halfway down the light-brown plates of her shapely calves, leaving those well-turned ankles bare; the hem of her hoodie skirted well-above the perfectly rounded curves of her buttocks, lovingly cupped by the thin lycra; her feet were bare in a pair of black flipflops, toenails painted a bright peach.

"Huh," she said, striding into the hall. "They really are exactly the same, aren't they? Only mirror images of each other."

I dragged my eyes away from her twitching buttocks. "Uh, now's not really a great time, Rox-"

"Hon, I'm not staying for long I just thought I'd poke my head in on the way to work and officially- oh hello!" She turned the corner into our living room, where Lacie lay sprawled on the couch, trying not to expire. I came in behind her in time to catch a venomous look from my fiancee, which I could only answer with a helpless gesture. "You must be Lacie! Derek was telling me all about you last night."

Slowly, painfully, Lacie gathered herself up and sat up on the couch. "Hi." She said with a tired wave. "Sorry, I'm not really feeling the greatest right now. Maybe you should come back sometime lat-"

"Aw, sweetie," Roxanne said sympathetically, and cast a critical eye over Lacie. "Hungover?"

"Yeah, I had a bit too much last night. Do you mind? I'm not really up for visitors."

"I know just the thing!" Roxanne snapped her fingers. "Old family cure - it works every time! Kitchen's in here, right?" She stalked off into the kitchen and soon we could hear the sound of glasses clinking, cupboards slamming, and the fridge door opening.

*What the hell is she doing here* Lacie mouthed, gesticulating.

*I have nooo idea* I responded.

*Well get rid of her.* Lacie's eyes were wide with anger.

*I'm trying.*

*Try harder!* She made a "go, go!" gesture; as I turned to head into the kitchen, I almost ran full-bore into Roxanne, who was returning with a tall glass filled to the brim with a thick, milky-white liquid. She nimbly dodged around me without missing a step or spilling a drop, and walked over to the couch.

"Here sugar," she said, proffering the glass. "Daddy Swift's Patented Hangover Cure. Guaranteed to immediately relieve your symptoms or your money back!"

Lacie took the glass and eyed it suspiciously. "Thanks?" She said.

"Go on," Roxanne gestured at her. "A little drop will do you, but the more you drink the faster it'll work. There you go - a little more than that, honey. Plug your nose if you have to. Take a big ol' gulp and try not to think about the taste too much."