Chapter 11: Movements in the Dark
There was no hope of a good night’s sleep when the weather was like this, Stan knew. Marie would run the air conditioner full blast in the bedroom when it was this humid; she liked the bed to be ice cold when she got into it, and needed arctic air blowing around the room as she slept. Stan couldn’t stand the thought of getting between the sheets like that.
But in the rest of the house, even with the slight breeze drifting in through the windows, the walls and floors radiated the heat they had soaked up during the day. The only thing Stan found to relax him on nights like this was to pour himself a couple of ounces of scotch and sit out on the front verandah for a while, until he was too dozy to stay awake any longer.
The night was warm and very still. If he listened hard, he could hear the crickets chirping, some distance away. Last year, there was a cricket somewhere in or near the house; Marie had insisted he find and kill it. Twenty dollars’ worth of bug spray later, the cricket still sang loudly and Stan was ready to kill Marie instead.
This was his third glass of scotch, and his last, probably. The air and quiet and alcohol were working; he was feeling the numbness start to take over.
Not far away, a screen door banged shut, the night air carrying the sound clearly and unmistakably to where he sat. He leaned forward, then back, to see around the little cedar tree he had planted a couple of years ago, at the border between his property and Darrell’s.
Someone, not Darrell, was crossing Darrell’s front lawn, illuminated clearly by the streetlight. Stan closed one eye and squinted with the other, but couldn’t make out the guy’s face.
He should get up and see what the guy was up to, he decided. Could be a teenager breaking into cars to steal cassettes, or even prying open basement windows. You never knew, these days.
He lifted himself quietly from his chair and walked to the end of his verandah, putting one hand on the brick ledge beside him to steady himself. The guy, whoever he was, had disappeared. Stan scanned the sidewalk, his front lawn, Darrell’s front lawn. No sign of him.
Wait—there, again, going back across Darrell’s lawn, his back to Stan. The guy turned at the far edge of Darrell’s property, and Stan figured it out: it was that new guy, Keith. But what had he been doing? He hadn’t been out of his house for more than a minute or two.
There was only one responsible, neighbourly thing to do. Stan took a couple of steps; yes, he was fine. He descended from the verandah and made his way around the side of the house.
He gave Darrell’s gate a quick tug; it was shut tight, but it wasn’t locked. Stan had advised Darrell more than once to get a padlock for it, but Darrell kept saying it was too inconvenient, getting the key all the time. Now look where that had got him: neighbours walking straight into the yard at all hours of the night.
Just a quick look, Stan decided. Just to make sure everything was in order. No need to make a fuss if Keith hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
The pathway down the side of Darrell’s house was overgrown with ivy, making it pitch black even in the clear, starry night. Stan ran his hand along the fence, just to make sure he wouldn’t trip somehow—wouldn’t that be humiliating, falling and breaking his ankle in his neighbour’s yard in the middle of the night. Still, he could just tell the truth—he had seen Keith go in there, only minutes before.
With the raised deck and pool, Darrell’s backyard had always seemed a little cramped; in the darkness, surrounded by house and fence and leaves, it was claustrophobic. Just a quick look and he’d leave. Just check that the back door hadn’t been opened or anything.
There, on the small step just below the sliding patio door. A small white object—no, just wrapped in a white plastic shopping bag.
Keith had never apologized to Stan for keeping the tape he’d found. Zsolt had gotten the tape back, sure, but Keith hadn’t come and talked to him, as he should have. And now, here he was, leaving tapes for Darrell. Who had let him in their circle? Who was lending him tapes? For all he knew, Darrell was giving Keith more tapes of him and Marie. Unfair.
Stan reached down and grabbed the bag. Sure enough, there was a tape inside. Black, no labels or markings. Could be anyone’s.
He’d borrow it—just for an hour or so, to make sure, and then he’d return it as long as it wasn’t him and Marie. Darrell and Keith wouldn’t know. Unless it was his, of course—and if it was, he’d raise holy hell.
The house didn’t seem as uncomfortable any more. Stan stopped in the dining room to pour himself one more glass of Scotch, and then went to the family room and turned on the TV, being careful to keep the volume right down.
While the tube brightened up and the test pattern came into focus, he turned on the VCR and jammed the tape into it. Irritated, he stabbed at the eject button; sure enough, there was some Disney movie in there, not even rewound. He tossed it aside, vowing to have a talk with Nancy and Jason the next morning about putting their tapes away.
Finally, he got his tape into the slot. He went and got on the couch, taking a long gulp of his drink as he lay back on the cushions.
It was her, Keith’s wife, the redhead. Her eyes were closed, and her breasts were just visible at the bottom of the frame. She looked like she was asleep.
But no—her shoulders were moving slightly. Stan could see her upper arms moving too, jiggling her breasts slightly.
And they really were a fantastic set of tits. Marie had a nice body, really good hips and an excellent ass, but if there was one thing Stan disliked, it was her small, slightly saggy chest. After the kids they had gotten even saggier, not bigger and fuller as Stan had hoped. At least she hadn’t gotten fat.
But this girl, Keith’s wife—she might have been a bit chubby but her tits were gorgeous. What he would give to get his hands on those—or his tongue, even better.
The camera was slowly drawing away, bringing more and more of her into view. Her paunch, with her arms slightly covering it; her wide hips; and there—yes—her hands, working hard as she vigorously stroked herself.
Without thinking, he pulled the top button open on his pants. He was rock-hard already.
Now almost her whole body was visible, from her long red hair, tossed untidily on the cushions behind her, to her knees, spread wide. The bright white flesh of her thighs, the dull pink of her nipples, the vivid orange of her hair when he could glimpse it between her hands—he drank it all in greedily.
Stan had never taped Marie on her own, had never thought to before. But now that he could see the intensity, the pleasure on Keith’s wife’s face as she silently worked her mouth and moved her hand from side to side, he vowed that he would get Marie on tape like this, in just this position.
The camera stopped moving, and soon—too soon—Keith walked onto the screen, his back to the lens. Stan had imagined Keith as a pudgy, out-of-shape sort of person, but he could see he was wrong. He might have had the love handles, but the muscles on his legs and buttocks showed that he was pretty well put together.
He walked straight up to his wife—Stan would have to learn her name as soon as he could—as naturally as if they were all alone in the room, and not being recorded for all to see. Turning his body slightly, Keith pressed his erection to his wife’s lips and, without stopping her hands moving for a single stroke, she opened her mouth wide and took him.
Stan marvelled briefly at Keith’s size. Not that it mattered—Marie always seemed to be satisfied, and that little yelp she sometimes made when he first got inside her told him all he needed to know. Still—he checked the contents of his own hand briefly, just to compare—Keith was definitely oversized. Stan thought back to some of the stag reels he’d seen years ago; yes, Keith looked like one of them, long and thick.
His wife didn’t seem to know what to do with it, unfortunately. One hand was still busy on her own self; the other touched tentatively, lightly, not gripping or stroking the shaft. And she barely made contact, just lightly playing around the head with her tongue.
Still, she was undeniably beautiful, and as her one hand sped up, getting closer and closer to coming, Stan’s hand did the same. He imagined her thighs around him, plunging deep between them, her nice round tits bouncing below him as he fucked her good and—
“Stan!” Marie screeched from the doorway.
He sat up quickly, leaning over a little to hide himself. His shirt lay beside him, and the top of his jeans rode down almost at his knees. There was no hiding it.
Stan didn’t risk looking Marie in the face. Instead, he pretended to be focused on the TV screen. “New tape,” he mumbled.
She sat down on the couch beside him. “Oh, that’s—oh, my. Is that—”
“The new neighbours, yeah. Keith and, um—”
“Lisa,” Marie finished for him.
“It looks like it’s pretty good.”
Stan scowled. “Don’t be a bitch.”
“Oh, honey,” she cooed. “I was only—”
They both stopped to watch as Lisa began what looked like a titanic orgasm. She ignored Keith completely, her hands clutching furiously at herself, his cock dangling aimlessly beside her face.
Marie jumped up and turned the TV volume up louder. Sure enough, there was sound, a long, intense moan, quaking slightly as Lisa’s body stretched out, and then released.
Marie stood beside the TV, not moving. “He’s really big, isn’t he,” she said quietly.
“She’s got an awesome rack,” Stan snapped back. If she wanted to point out his deficiencies, he could do the same.
“Oh, honey, no,” she said, returning to his side. “I just meant—”
“If you want it so much—”
They both stopped again to watch the action on the screen. Lisa lay back, drawing long, deep breaths, her chest swelling voluptuously with each one. Her hands were still at last, lying by her sides. Stan looked closely between her legs, spread obscenely wide, at the glistening wetness on her lips.
Keith, meanwhile moved around to the other side of the screen, and she raised her knees obligingly. A surprisingly loud “Oh!” escaped from her as he began, then a long, slow hiss, “yesssss...”
Marie’s hand surprised him, crawling across his thigh, and Stan jumped slightly.
“Just at first,” he said, relaxing and sitting back.
“Let’s get these off,” she purred, gently drawing his pants down to the floor. “There, isn’t that nicer?” she asked, and got up on top of him.
“Mmmm...” he murmured, as she pressed up against his face, her filmy, silky nightie gliding between them. She reached down and began to guide him, pulling him toward her—
“Wait,” he said suddenly, putting his hands on her waist and holding her there.
He ran his hands across her hips and gripped her cheeks tightly, making her squeal.
“Get the camera,” he grunted.
“Upstairs,” she said, smiling down at him.
“Right here,” he ordered.
She looked down at him, confused, and started to reply, but then said nothing. Stan listened to her footsteps running up the stairs and into the bedroom, enjoying the unobstructed view, now, of Keith and Lisa, still busy together on the screen.