Owning the Neighbors

Owning the Neighbors

By Rusty Zipper

Story description: A Caucasian couple becomes sex slaves to a wicked black man. A BBC erotic horror brainwash story with a twist.

***

SPECTATING A POSSIBILITY

My name is Jessica, but it wasn't always my name.

I am a woman, but I wasn't born that way.

I once possessed a house but bestowed it as a gift and gave away my money to a wretched evil man.

I also had a wife but gave her body to my master, and along with myself, she's forced to give him pleasure.

We belong to the devil who uses us and others and when he's wearied from our holes, he chooses other couples.

This unfathomable reality became our life.

Truly, it wasn't always this way.

Perhaps I've erred by providing you a glimpse of your future. I've tempered your curiosity for our discordant lives by providing you a taste of trifle desert without giving you the substance of the meat that would terrify you.

I hold no obligation to save your miserable soul or that of any other. It's only by choice that I'm here to frighten you and I certainly have an agenda for doing so.

My existence is solely cemented in a realm where the probability of my fate has already played out. As such, I've conformed to my nature and my compulsion to rescue myself is now null. My role has materialized by a choice I've made but truly I have yet to make one.

Unlike my failure as a man, you stand at a crossroad where one manly decision will save you from sharing my oblivion.

As I once did, you now sit on a sofa. You ogle deviant manifestations that have been created for you without comprehending the subtle alterations it forces upon you.

If destiny is not averted, you will soon unwarily spectate perversity and be manipulated as I was. With each successive incident, you become absorbed with delusions and will succumb to those wicked desires. Your willpower to resist will be replaced by compulsions to serve. Your demise will then be celebrated by your submission and your future sealed by your eagerness to swallow.

As I said, there is still hope. Awake now, gather your partner, dash to the door, run to your car, crank it, and then drive away. Don't ever return nor disclose where your cloister. Leave my house and you'll never be troubled.

Shame.

I was hopeful that you'd respond. Instead, you remain unmoved by my introduction with your eyes transfixed on a fantasy for which a script hasn't yet been written.

No doubt, you haven't comprehended the danger you're in.

Perhaps, the concept of my life is so absurd that you can't conceive its authenticity. It's so removed from a reasonable explanation that you're incapable of perceiving that the impossible can be made real.

Your inaction has left me no choice. With joyful recollection, I will articulate my horrendous ordeal with the hope that it will jar your mind to the terror that confronts you.

I will force you to stand in my heels and partake in my dreadful journey. You will experience bliss and be stimulated into action.

***

DAY ONE: THE CABLE GUY

We were a devoted young Caucasian couple moving into a new house that we'd purchased for a bargain. Located in a gated community comprised of wealthy and middle-class suburbanites, we jumped at the chance.

Of course, I certainly questioned our good fortune. At the price we had paid, it was as if it were haunted or perhaps built over a hazardous waste dump site. The answer given by the nervous realtor was that the previous owners were simply desperate to sell.

The remark had ended with the woman's face turned towards the window or perhaps it was the door—it was so long ago I forget. I do remember she emitted a barely audible sob before she turned back to look at me with weary eyes. At the time, I was so excited about the house that her odd behavior became an afterthought and I shrugged it off. Moreover, her explanation was reasonable and didn't raise a flag.

For obvious reasons, what remained unmentioned was the truth. The previous tenets were among the first victims touched by the insanity. As an older pair in their fifties, the relentless abuse of sexual servitude had become too much.

Now docile drooling objects incapable of continuing their primary function much less caring for themselves, they were discreetly sold as playthings to an aberrant rich foreigner. They were then used as bed-laden sex dolls for his deviant son to plunge his dick into. Of course, I must mention, they received the best of care and lived long lives providing unceasing pleasure and happiness.

Inquiring about the previous owners wasn't something a person would think to ask when buying a house and it would never be disclosed by this realtor. She was just another pilfered wife intrinsically tied to the manipulative master and forced to play this role out of necessity.

"Jessie, can you bring that box in for me? It's too heavy and needs a man to pick it," my wife said.

As she came close carrying a small box, I leaned in and kissed her. I then pulled back and smiled.

With doting eyes, she chuckled and said, "What?"

"I love you," I replied and then wildly tickled her waist.

Her curvy wide hips and rounded bum wiggled back and forth to avoid my playful fingers.

"Hon, I love you too," she hastily rasped while giggling. "Stop it tiger—or you'll make me drop the box or embarrass myself."

I teasingly replied, "Shelia, that's a great idea. Let's drop everything and find a room."

She lowered her brow and gave me a stern look and retorted, "Empty the trailer—then I'll think about it."

She then chuckled and nudged me with a bump and grind before turning to carry her labor into the house.

We'd been married for a year, deeply in love, and extremely happy with the direction of our lives. Our grand plan was to raise a big family. Little did I know, I wasn't fated to be a father to any of her children.

As I walked up the ramp to the trailer, a cable TV repair van pulled up.

I was taken off guard because I hadn't called the cable company to connect service.

Since Shelia tended to be a control freak and masterfully managed to have the other utilities turned on weeks ago, I assumed she had a hand in this without telling me.

As I approached the driver's side of the van, the window rolled down. A beefy old black man appraised me with a glare and a stoic expression. The way his eyes ogled me up and down, well, it was unnerving.

I felt oddly weak and insecure under his gaze and my voice came out squeaky as I stuttered, "C...Ca...Can I he...hel...help you?"

The man's brow rose in response and his eyes locked to mine.

Suddenly, his expression dramatically shifted into a grand grin that effectively jolted me.

With a slight alteration of his mouth, it then became a pleasant smile intended to motivate trust and friendship.

Oddly, it worked on me and I immediately warmed to the man with no inkling as to why I felt that way.

Observing my composure, the man nodded as if confirming something to himself and then excitedly said, "You be the Martins for sure."

I narrowed my gaze and muttered, "What?"

"I'm installing your cable today, darling," he replied.

I admit I was put back by the framing of his words. He exclaimed the statement with an inference that it was happening regardless of permission. When he ended it with, "...darling," well, it was creepy and gave me the chills. He had an unusual accent conjoined with a pleasant tone, so I chalked it up to it being how he generally spoke to people.

Now perturbed, I said, "I didn't call for an install. Did my wife order service?"

He joyfully chuckled, shrugged, and then replied, "Not yet, but soon."

I broadened my eyes at his statement and snapped, "Pardon me?"

"Darling, no need to apologize," he laughed, "Just poking guy-humor at yah. Nah, your Mrs. didn't call. I'm a neighbor from down the street. Seeing as I'm the only media company in this community, I'm being proactive—or maybe I'm eager to meet my new friends."

I huffed, "I guess welcome and nice to meet you. Then why did you say you were here to install cable?"

"Cause I am. Did I not state that I'm the only provider in town? It's my mission to be charitable to my neighbors. I bestow a cable package as a gift to every new family moving into our little hamlet. It's all free and I ask for nothing."

"Seriously, you're providing us with free service? That doesn't make financial sense. What's the catch?"

"Nothing. To be truthful, my act of goodwill provides me pleasure. Like everyone here, I'm confident that you'll both repay my kindness as they have. It's how it works here in this community. Give your heart and soul and you'll be rewarded with a blessing."

I was cognizant that he had made statements, but I found it difficult to comprehend what was said. Primarily because the man kept swaying the end of his glossy gold-plated pen back and forth between two fingers like a pendulum. My eyes were drawn to it as the reflected sunlight streaked back and forth across my eyeballs. It distracted my attention and was both annoying and calming at the same time.

I was unsure how much time had elapsed before the man began clicking the end of the pen. I blinked to the rhythm of his moving thumb and then followed the path of the small goldenrod as he lowered it into his shirt pocket.

I stammered, "I don't think—"

With a stern glare, he exclaimed, "The quicker it's done the faster I'll be out of your hair. I'll even help off-load your trailer, so you'll have time to relax and watch TV. I guarantee entertainment that will tickle you both pink. I certainly won't take a no as your answer."

"I'm finding it difficult to say no to you," I replied.

He broadly grinned at my response.

With an amused expression on his face, he opened the door of his van and stepped out.

He then said, "Now you're tickling me. I knew you'd be an easy one to convince. Can't beat free and I'm always giving gifts. Never lied to a neighbor and never will."

He broke eye contact and immediately moved to get his tools and materials to begin the installation.

Here is a rule to remember: always refuse any offers stating free. Straight-up, nothing is free and there's always a catch. We'd soon pay dearly; we just didn't know it yet.

After the install was complete and the trailer was unloaded with help from Mr. Johnson—ah, and a minor note, the man intentionally provided us a moniker with a dual meaning, and I'll leave it there.

After the man said his pleasantries and put the last of his tools into the van, he turned and then exclaimed, "I'd be joyful if you and Shelia agreed to come to our house on Friday. I'm giving you both a housewarming party. Be there at 7 PM sharp and no one's ever late. By then you'll both be settled and eager for treats. My excitable wife will be thrilled to meet our new neighbors. I certainly won't take no for an answer."

Enough was enough, I was anxious to be rid of the man and was determined to refuse his offer. I was on the cusp of a rebuttal when...

Shelia interrupted and said, "We'll be there. Thank you so much for what you've done for us."

Mr. Johnson eyed my wife with a tilt of his head. He gave her that eerie wide grin like he'd given me earlier and then replied, "Sweet-honey-pie wasn't nothing. I'm certain to be sanctified by your presence as payment for my generosity. Pleasing me with attendance is what I expect from a good wife. Well, let me get my tail home. I've got company cumin and I'm sure they're desperate for daddy Johnson's presence. You've both stimulated me with anticipation for the big event. For now, enjoy my gracious gift."

The man left.

After securing the trailer and entering the house, I confronted my wife and said, "Why did you agree so willingly?"

Shelia crinkled her brow while pondering my question. She then shrugged while looking up at me and replied, "I don't know—maybe an urge to be polite to someone that did us a favor. After all, he helped off-load the trailer, fixed the garbage disposal, and then repaired the faulty light fixture over our bed. You even asked if he'd look at the staticky television in the living room. Who does that for free? The man was so jovial that I felt that turning him down wouldn't be proper."

"Isn't a housewarming party conducted in the home of the new hosts?"

"Technically, yeah. Does it matter? He seemed eager to have it at his place."

"He was too pushy and that troubles me. The whole encounter with him was unusual and the way he spoke to us, well, he's a strange fellow. The way he looked at us made me uncomfortable."

Shelia shook her head expressing disagreement while staring at the wall. She then looked at me and said, "You're frazzled over nothing. The old man is harmless. Do you know what I found odd? I put my undergarments in a dresser drawer and closed it. I turned to unpack another box and when I turned around—"

"How's that weird?" I interrupted.

"Let me finish. The drawer was open, and a pair of my panties were on the floor. It was as if someone had just stepped out of them. There was a chill in the air that made me shiver. I swear my back was only turned for a few seconds."

I laughed.

"What's funny?"

"It sounds like you're instigating that a ghost wore your panties."

"Well—how would you explain it?"

"I wouldn't, it's ridiculous. You probably thought you closed it and it dropped when you turned around. You've been frenziedly moving about and unpacking, and you're exhausted to boot. Let's finish tomorrow."

Shelia smiled and then said, "Hum, we do have free time, free cable, and I'm oddly frisky, not tired at all. I say we cuddle up and see what's on."

We then moved to the living room and sat on the sofa.

With the remote in hand, I turned on the TV.

Our jaws dropped and our eyes rounded.

Shelia snapped, "That's porn!"

I quickly shuffled to the next channel and muttered, "What the?"

The station displayed a white woman secured to a table. Her thighs were spread with legs draped over the edge. Dreamily, she repeatedly muttered her need for a big black cock. With each utterance of those words, her desperation intensified into a conscious hysteria. That sexual mantra once uttered out as a mindless phrase had solidified into a frantic yearning.

I turned to look at Sheila and watched her cringe in disgust and murmur a repulsive remark.

She then glared back at me.

I clicked to the next channel when I should have turned it off.

This one was a closeup of a ginger-haired woman with large breasts on her knees slobbering on a black man's dick. She appeared obsessed and blissful. The rapid movement of her arm suggested that her hand was frenziedly working between her legs.

The TV screen flashed and flickered but we took no note of it.

At that moment, I was confused.

I was transfixed by the imagery as I watched the woman's wet tongue slither along the length of the black man's robust shank.

My eye's narrowed on the hard cock...my mouth became ajar; my tongue began to inch out—

Shelia exclaimed, "Jesse, this BBC shit is gross, turn it off. This must be a mistake."

She then nudged me from the side to break my absorption.

Feeling a drop of saliva forming on my chin, I quickly wiped it with the back of my hand and hesitantly turned to glare at my wife.

She was staring back and said, "Well? Damn it, turn it off."

On impulse, I pressed a button without looking and flipped it to the next channel.

My wife's brow lowered at my action and she cocked her head with an expression provoking a question.

Her face altered and paled when sounds produced by a familiar woman began emanating from the direction of the TV.

I watch her gaze shift to that direction and then I did the same.

An attractive woman was on all fours being heavily pounded from behind by a black man. His face was obscured by the cut of the screen, but the woman's face was recognizable.

Shelia piped, "Oh my God!"

"What?"

"You don't recognize her?"

Oddly, my gaze wasn't on the woman. It was focused on the man's cock that was plunging into her. It was becoming difficult to break my stare from it, but I did.

I shrugged when I saw the woman.

Annoyed, Shelia replied, "That's the realtor that sold us this house. Jesse, what's wrong with you? What the hell is going on?"

I was unnerved by that revelation. However, I was provoked by curiosity and I needed answers, so I quickly clicked to the next channel.

This time a blond lady was mounted on a black cock and was slowly riding it. The scene was of her curvy back followed by a closeup of her white pussy gliding up and down on his ebony shaft.

When the video altered to focus on her sweaty face, she appeared bewildered by her action. She was also being coaxed by the man into mumbling phrases that escalated her movements. The expression that began as incomprehension gradually shifted into a frantic desire to please the man with all she could muster.

Again, each scene seemed to intentionally avoid showing the face of her antagonist.

The black man was not only taunting her with encouragement to perform whorishly, but he was also belittling a man that was beyond the view of the camera.

I recognized the desperate woman that was repeatedly ramming her pale twat on the man's dark rod. It was the strange cashier at the community convenience store that they'd met a week ago after buying the house.

From our conversation at the checkout, the woman was friendly and mentioned having moved to the neighborhood a few months back. It was when her topic shifted to being married that her smile ebbed. At first, she appeared disoriented and not sure. Then her demeanor darkened. She declared herself now divorced from the pathetic sissy and forever bound to black cock. After that, the woman began to strip and touch herself. We didn't wait to see what happened next. My wife and I dashed from the store both puzzled and embarrassed.

While reminiscing over that encounter, I heard my wife panting. From the corner of my eye, I caught her hand slowly drifting down to brush her inner thigh. I then felt a chill forming in the air around me.

The weirdness was too much.

Incensed, I stood up and shouted, "Enough of this garbage!" while pressing the power button on the remote.

The TV went dark and my foggy thoughts cleared.

I looked down at my wife. Her complexion was flushed and was pocked with beads of sweat.

Shelia observed my disposition and replied, "There must be a reasonable explanation. Mr. Johnson was so friendly and helpful. Why would he do this?"

I grumbled, "I'm not amused by his unsavory prank. It's either that or we've moved into a community of amateur porn stars. Tomorrow I'm calling that bastard to demand an answer and to tell him to shut this shit off."

Shelia reached out and grabbed my hand. She smiled and then said, "Let it go to bed. I'm horny as hell."

***

DAY TWO: THE BEGINNING

The situation had distressed me so much that I was incapable of maintaining an erection. Based on events we assumed that to be the reason. Shelia tried everything to stimulate my arousal, but with no success.

My inability to perform left her sexually flustered and unsettled. She was annoyed with my apology, so I offered to pleasure her with my tongue instead.

I went down on her and immediately experienced revulsion. After producing regurgitative sounds and stopping myself from completing, I pulled back to wipe my mouth with the sheet.

Shelia sobbed, turned her back to me, and then went silent

Eventually, we fell asleep.

My slumber was broken with sporadic bouts of sudden wakefulness produced by vulgar dreams that made my prick harden and caused my heart to pound in my chest. Although erotic, these lurid fantasies were a nightmare for a man like me.