Housewife & the Old Neighbor Ch. 07

Author's note

Hi guys. Sorry it took so long to get this chapter out. I wanted the story to go somewhere a little more creative this time, instead of another typical one. I hope you enjoy this direction.

This story is purely fiction. All characters and events are fictional. It contains cheating, dirty old man, corruption, reluctance, humiliation, and many more. Please observe the additional tags associated with this series. Thank you. I truly appreciate all comments and ratings. Enjoy.

Mark kissed Lisa at the door the way he always did and told her he loved her without even glancing at the house next door.

"Love you too," Lisa said.

She meant it. That sat wrong in her stomach after he left, because once his car turned at the end of the block she was already going upstairs. She put on a pink tank top and black yoga shorts, a white bra and pink panties, skipped the makeup, hair still messy from the pillow. Yesterday she had cooked in Walter's kitchen with an apron that didn't cover anything and called him Daddy.

She walked next door with her head down. No eggs this time. The door was unlocked so she went in without knocking.

"Door's open," Walter called from the couch. He didn't get up.

The place had the smell of stale tobacco and old sweat. It was dim even in the morning. Walter had a stained t-shirt on and his gut sitting in his lap, filling a mug off that coffee pot of black sludge. He barely glanced over.

"Kitchen," he said.

Lisa stood there waiting for him to tell her to take it off. He just looked back at the TV so she went through. The kitchen was small, battered table, greasy apron still hanging by the stove, yesterday's skillet in the sink with egg stuck to it.

"What do you want to eat?" she asked.

"Anything," Walter said.

She cooked with her clothes on this time, eggs and sausage, toast a little burnt because she kept looking at the doorway. The stove made the pink tank stick to her back. He didn't even come look. When the plate was ready he sat down, ate most of it, and pushed it away.

"Kitchen's a pigsty," Walter said. "You clean it. All of it. Then you can come sit."

He went back to the couch.

Lisa started with the skillet because the egg was stuck hard. Then the plates and the splash behind the coffee pot, which took the longest. The sponge smelled awful. Her back started hurting and she kept looking at the doorway, thinking he would come in and say the clothes were in the way.

When there was nothing left she stood there with wet hands hoping that counted.

He patted the cushion when she came in. Lisa sat. The couch dipped under both of them.

Walter took her wrist and put her hand in his lap over the trousers and held it there. It was thick and heavy. She felt him swell under her fingers and her mouth went dry.

"There," Walter said. "That's all you get to know today."

He made her squeeze once then lifted her hand off like he was done with the remote.

Lisa's face went hot.

"I wasn't..."

"Don't lie to me, honey." He didn't even sit up. "You came over here dressed like that. No eggs this time. You thought old Walter was gonna bend you over the table again."

"I didn't think that," she said.

"I am an old man. Can't just get hard every day. You want it, you gotta earn it."

He grabbed himself through the trousers so she could see the shape, squeezed once, slow.

"See you tomorrow," Walter said, and turned the TV back up.

Lisa walked home and washed the tank top and the shorts that afternoon. That night Mark talked about a meeting while they ate. In bed he kissed her shoulder and didn't push. She was glad, then felt like shit for it, because she'd expected Walter to use her and Mark had no idea.

---

She went back the next day in the white tank and the gray shorts. Walter was on the couch again. He pointed at the ashtray without looking at her.

"Living room today. I gotta look at this shit all day. Make it less disgusting."

Lisa dumped the ashtray in the kitchen trash and had to knock it against the can because the butts stuck to the glass. She wiped the table next to him. He moved his mug out of the way without saying thanks. The carpet had crumbs mashed into it so she got down with the dustpan by his feet, and when she bumped his ankle he told her to watch it and still didn't look away from the set. Sweat made the tank cling under her arms. She reached up for the curtains and dust came off in sheets. She coughed into her wrist. She could feel him looking then. His hand stayed on the remote.

By noon her arms were shaking and the room still looked like his.

"That's enough," Walter said. "See you Monday. Go home, sweetie. You look tired."

She waited a second. He turned the volume up. She walked home with her knees sore and washed the tank again that afternoon. Mark asked that night if she wanted to watch something and she said sure, then sat through a show she didn't follow with her feet tucked under her and answered when he laughed.

Over the weekend he mowed out back. She could hear the mower going back and forth while she did the dishes. He came in with grass on his shoes and put his hands on her waist while she was rinsing a glass, kissed her neck, hands still warm from the yard. She kissed him back. When his hand slid up under her shirt she went stiff.

"Hey," Mark said. "You okay?"

"I'm just tired," Lisa said.

He bought it and got a beer out of the fridge and went to the couch. She stood at the sink with the glass still in her hand, disappointed he'd stopped, which made her hate herself a little. Sunday she made chicken and potatoes. He talked about a guy at work. She said mm-hmm in the right places.

Monday he opened the door before she knocked. He was on his feet for once with a scrap of paper.

"Store," he said. "Don't get cute. Get what's on there and come back."

Cigarettes, cheap beer, white bread, American cheese. His handwriting was ugly.

"I don't have..." she started.

"You got a purse, don't you?" Walter snickered. "Pretty young wife. You can float the old man a few bucks."

She went home first and took a few bucks from her purse. Not much. Just enough. It still felt wrong walking to the store with his list in her hand. A car passed. Nobody looked. The clerk rang her up without looking at her face. She paid and walked back with the bags cutting into her fingers.

He took them on the porch. Checked the receipt like she might have stolen from him. Grunted. Nodded at her house.

"That's enough for Monday," Walter said. "See you tomorrow then." Then he shut the door in her face.

Lisa stood there with empty hands. He hadn't let her inside and he hadn't paid her back.

---

Tuesday she wore the white tank and gray shorts. The door was unlocked. The game show was on.

"Bathroom," Walter said. "Toilet too. Get in there."

The bathroom was small and nasty after sitting closed all week. Hair in the drain. Yellow in the bowl that didn't come up the first time. A ring in the sink. Floor tacky under her knees. She cleaned on her knees because there was no other way to get the base of the toilet. She kept waiting for him to tell her to take the tank off, the way she had waited Thursday, and hated that she was waiting.

She was scrubbing inside the bowl when he filled the doorway. Stained tank top. Trousers. He unbuttoned and shoved the trousers down. Underwear came with them. The tank stayed on, stretched over his gut. From the waist down he was bare. Thick cock hanging against his thigh.

He dropped the pair on the sink next to her hand.

"Wash those. Hands. Not the machine. That pair."

Then he left.

The TV got louder down the hall. She picked the underwear up. Still warm from him, a faint damp at the pouch. She was supposed to put them under the tap, use soap, be done.

She brought them to her face.

The first breath was a mistake she made on purpose. Sweat and skin and the salt of him, and under that a sour edge of piss he had not bothered to shake off. It filled her head. Same filth that had made her gag on her own bathroom floor the first time, when he shoved himself past her teeth and called it a favor. She had hated it then. Wanted it off her tongue. Now she was the one moving.

Heat punched straight down. Her shorts were already damp. She loved Mark. The pleasure this fat old asshole could wring out of her was starting to scare her, and she wasn't even touching him.

She inhaled again, nose pressed into the worn cotton. The fabric was a little stiff, a little crusted at the seam. She knew what that was. She had swallowed it. She had begged for it in this house.

Her mouth opened against the cloth. A sound almost came out of her, small and hungry, and she bit it back.

"Well, well."

Walter had not gone far. Tank on. Bare from the waist down. His cock was heavier now, filling, lifting off his thigh while he watched her with the underwear still at her mouth. He looked so pleased she wanted to sink through the dirty floor.

She yanked the pair down. Too late. The smell stayed in her nose.

"I won't judge," he said, soft, almost kind. "Old man's got a stink. You don't have to pretend you hate it."

"I wasn't... I was just... I was about to wash them."

"Uh-huh." He stepped in until his belly and his half-hard cock were right in front of her face. A fat vein standing out. A bead of wet at the slit. "You don't sniff a man's tighty-whities if you're about to do laundry, sweetie. You wanted a taste."

"That's not..." Lisa swallowed. "I wasn't gonna."

"Sure you weren't." Walter chuckled, wet in the throat. "Mark ain't here. Nobody's here. You been on your knees in my toilet all morning. You gonna tell me you don't want this old cock in your mouth?"

She looked at it instead of his eyes.

She didn't lean in. The cock was right there. She could have.

Walter watched her not do it and snickered.

"That's what I thought." He stood there a second longer, letting her look, then turned around and walked out, still bare from the waist down, back to his couch and his show. "Wash those. Then go home. And I'm tired of looking at those little shorts. You want it tomorrow, wear something sexy. Something I ain't seen on you. Yet."

Lisa stayed on her knees with the underwear in her fist and his smell in her mouth. She washed the pair with shaking hands. Soap and hot water. She wrung them out and left them on the sink. Walked out at noon in the same white tank.

She thought about that pair all afternoon, and how close his cock had been. She was really put his words into her consideration. Was it because she wanted that from him that much? She didn't know.

---

Wednesday Mark kissed her at the door and left. Lisa went upstairs to the closet.

She stood there with the door open longer than she needed to. Tanks. Yoga shorts. Jeans. T-shirts she wore to rinse glasses in. Nothing she would call slutty. Slutty was not in her dictionary. Till now. She pushed hangers. A cardigan. A blouse with a stain. Then a dress, light blue, little white flowers, the one she wore last summer to their friend's barbecue party. Strapless. The top was a straight band that sat on her chest and nowhere else. The hem stopped above her knee. Mark liked it.

She took it off the hanger.

She was afraid the dress wouldn't be enough. Afraid he'd look at her and send her to clean again.

She put the dress on without the panties. The band of it held on her breasts. Her shoulders were bare. When she walked, the hem brushed the tops of her thighs. She didn't look in the mirror long. She walked next door with her head down and found the door unlocked.

The game show was on. Walter was on the couch. He looked at her for a long second, from her bare shoulders down to where the dress stopped.

"Well now," he snickered. "That's a pretty little dress. Cute." His eyes sat on the strapless top, on the fact there was nothing holding it but her. "That all you got for me, honey?"

Lisa's face went hot. "It's... it's all I had."

"Come here anyway."

He stood up with a little wheeze and unbuttoned his trousers. He's not wearing underwear. He stepped out. From the waist down he was bare, thick cock hanging against his thigh.

He sat back down like a man waiting to be served.

Lisa went to her knees on the carpet in front of the couch. The dress rode up. She felt the air.

"Walter..." It came out thin.

"Shh." He snickered, pleased, and patted his own thigh. "You know what to do. That's all you gotta do."

She leaned in. Gray hair. A thick vein. The head of him already pushing out of the foreskin, a bead of wet at the slit. The first time, on her own bathroom floor, she had gagged on it and wanted it off her tongue. Now she was on her knees in a cute dress with nothing under it, and Mark was at work.

She opened her mouth and took him.

The taste hit hard, salt and skin and sour musk, live, leaking on her tongue. She made a noise she didn't mean to make. She pulled back to breathe, a string of spit connecting her lip to his cock.

"That's it," Walter grunted. "Get it wet. You been thinking about this all week."

She went right back. Spit ran down her chin onto the blue flowers. His fat belly bumped her forehead. The couch springs complained. Every time she tried to take him deeper, her nose mashed into that coarse gray hair and she couldn't breathe. The dress had ridden up to her hips. She could feel how wet she was, bare on her own heels.

Walter's eyes dropped. He snickered around a groan.

"God damn." His hand found the back of her head, and the other one went under the hem, up the back of her thigh, and found nothing. Just wet skin. "You came over here with no panties on. Under that cute little dress."

She couldn't answer with her mouth full. She hollowed her cheeks and took him until she couldn't breathe. When he let her off she gasped, her eyes already wet.

"Say you want it," he said.

Lisa shook her head once.

Walter snorted. "That's alright. Your tongue's doing the talking anyway." He slapped the wet head of himself against her mouth, not hard, just rude. "Kiss it then."

She kissed it, open-mouthed and messy. She licked the bead off the slit. He wrapped her hands around him and had her stroke, slow, spit-slick, then stopped her with a thumb on her lip.

"Alright," Walter said. His voice had gone rough. "That's enough mouth. Get up here. On my lap."

He sat back in the couch, gut in the way, cock wet from her spit and standing up off his thigh, and waited.

"You want it in you, you put it in yourself," he said.

Lisa got up. The strapless band slipped and she tugged it back over her breasts. Her knees went to either side of his hips on the dirty cushions. She reached down and held him. Lined him up. Sank.

It went in heavy and slow. She made a sound she hoped the TV covered. His gut was against her belly. She was the one moving, because he had told her to ride him, and she did, the dress bunched around her waist, her bare ass in his hands.

Walter grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.

She should have turned her face away. His tongue went in, sour from coffee and old smoke, and after a second she opened for it and kissed him back. Their mouths were sloppy. She could taste herself on him from when he had had his hand between her legs. Her hands went around his thick neck. His yellow teeth knocked her lip. She kept kissing him anyway.

The bounce of her own hips. The wet sound. His tongue. "That's it, honey," Walter grunted into her mouth. "You wanted this old cock all week. Now you work for it."

She just moaned loudly and kept moving. Up and down. His hands under the dress, grabbing her ass, helping her slam down harder. The strapless top slipped. He watched her breasts and snickered and kissed her again passionately.

She felt him swell inside her. His breathing went ugly.

"Fuck. I'm gonna cum," he said, right against her lips. "You better not take it out. Take all my seed."

Lisa didn't lift off. She sank down and stayed there, full of him, and kissed him while he started to lose it.

He seized. Held her down by the hips. Came in her, pulse after pulse, hot and a lot, filling her while she sat on his lap in that little blue dress. She stayed on him after, breathing into his stained tank, his cock twitching inside her, his spit on her mouth.

Walter patted her hip.

"Get off."

She did. She felt him leak down her thigh onto his couch.

He stood up with a wheeze, cock shining, tank rucked up, and shuffled down the hall toward the bedroom without looking at her.

"Clean all this shit up," he called. "I don't wanna see a mess when I get up. Then get out of my sight."

A door closed. The bedsprings complained. The TV was still on.

Lisa stood in his living room with the dress pulled down and him running down the inside of her leg. He had used her and told her to wipe the couch and gone to bed like she was his servant. She was supposed to be mad. But surprisingly enough, she wasn't. Instead, she was quite satisfied with everything. She didn't even understand why she could feel that way.

Stopped thinking, Lisa picked up his trousers. She wiped the wet spot with a rag from the kitchen that already smelled like him. She turned the volume down. She washed the mug. Her hands shook. Her body was still buzzing and she could not make it stop.

She left the house quiet.

---

She showered when she got home. She took a nap and then started dinner after waking up.

She hummed over the stove. She didn't mean to. It just came out while she stirred whatever was in the pan. Her face was easier than it had been all week. She caught herself smiling at nothing and made it smaller, but she could not make it go away.

Mark came home around six, tired, and stopped in the kitchen doorway.

"Hey," he said. "You look... good. Happy." He grinned, glad, like he had walked into the right house. "Smells good too."

They ate. He talked about work. She nodded in the right places and hummed under her breath when she got up for water. Mark watched her and looked pleased, maybe she was just having a good day. He was glad she was happy. That was enough for him.

Lisa let him think it.

Tomorrow he would leave. The door next door would be unlocked.

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