Neighbor of the Beast

by Helen E. H. Madden © 2009

He was at it again.

Neville curled into a fetal position beneath the blanket on his bed, pillow clasped over his head.  It was just barely Sunday, the clock on the nightstand reading a few minutes after midnight, and Neville's neighbor was once again entertaining guests.  The sound of raucous laughter came through the thin wall that separated their apartments. Music came through as well, the thumpa-thumpa of the bass so loud it threatened to crack the drywall like an eggshell and then crack Neville's skull too.  But that wasn't as bad as the other thumping sound, that of a headboard banging repeatedly against the wall, directly opposite of where Neville was trying to sleep.

"Ignore it," he muttered to himself, clutching his pillow tighter. "Just ignore it..."

But then he heard the sound of shattered glass and a woman's high-pitched giggle.  The thumping pace of the headboard increased.  The crucifix on the wall over Neville's head bounced in reaction against his side of the wall.  By the time the moaning and the screaming for God Almighty had started, Neville had tossed his pillow away and gotten down on his knees in fervent prayer.

"Dear Lord, make it stop!  Please, just make it stop!"

But God never listened to Neville, no matter how hard he prayed. Instead, the cacophony of lust only grew louder.  Now he could hear more voices, male and female, added to the babble.  They were too indistinct for Neville to say how many people he heard.  The voices blended together in a swelling ululation of ecstasy until their calls to each other and to God washed over Neville, leaving him drenched in sweat.  He wept even as he felt himself grow hard.

"Why? Oh God, why must you torment me?"

There was a sharp twang as a bed spring popped.  Then one by one, each member of the orgy reached their final destination, calling out their arrival in paradise with shouts of joy.  Neville was the last to come, alone on his side of the wall, but he didn't shout like the others.  His orgasm soaked the front of his pajamas, much to his undying shame.

Neville had been in the apartment next to his on a few occasions, thought not since the current occupant had moved in.  He knew the place was a mirror image of his own.  Bedroom backed up against bedroom. Kitchen backed up against kitchen.  The bathrooms also lined up on either side of the wall, and the things Neville heard going on whenever he used the toilet were the stuff of wet dreams, or in Neville's case, nightmares.  Even in the living room, which was on the far side of the apartment, Neville couldn't escape the sighs and moans and cries of pleasure.  They started up again around noon, this time accompanied by sounds of torment -- the slap of leather on bare skin, the swish of a cane as it sliced through the air, the delighted screams of those who received such blows.  These sounds were the worst for Neville.  Up until those particular activities had started, he'd been able to quell his reactions to his neighbor's never-ending sex party by punishing himself with a flogger.  He spent the morning standing before a cross on the wall, striking himself with a leather cat.  The biting sting of the tails against his back and thighs had provided all the distraction he'd needed, and the pain left him feeling clean and pure.  But then as he punished himself and prayed, he heard an echo to his whipping followed by a low, animalistic groan.  Neville beat himself harder. The whip next door followed suit.  Neville's cries of pain mingled with the anonymous bellows of someone else's pleasure until suddenly the two became one and Neville found himself spraying semen all over the living room floor.

So flogging was out, and now things had gotten to such a point, he had to do something.  At five p.m., things in his neighbor's apartment went quiet again.  Neville pulled on his clothing and snuck out into the hallway.  He stood outside his neighbor's door, hand raised to knock. He would simply have to ask these people to keep it down. Mention the police and noise ordinances.  Threaten to call the landlord and complain.  Neville hated the idea of confronting his neighbor, but he simply couldn't live with the noise or the temptation any longer.  It was destroying him, corrupting him, and as a penitent sinner, that was the very last thing he needed.

He rapped on the door and waited.  Long moments crept by until finally he heard footsteps and the lock turning.

"Yeah?"

A man, tall, muscular and bronzed, stood in the open doorway.  He must have just stepped out of the shower.  His dark hair hung to his shoulders in damp waves.  His skin glowed with a fine wet sheen. Droplets of water hung in the dark curling hairs that spread across his chest. More hair ran down his torso in a thin trail that disappeared beneath the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Are you, uh, Brother Luciente?" Neville asked, recalling the name from his earlier conversation with the woman in the hall.

The man cocked an eyebrow at Neville, taking in his red sweater vest and horn-rimmed glasses.

"That's me.  What can I do you for?"

"I, uh, I can't sleep," Neville stuttered.

"Well, maybe I can help with that."

Before he could protest, the burly man took Neville by the wrist and pulled him into the apartment.

"Oh no!" Neville tried to get away but Luciente had a grip of iron.  He pulled until Neville was clear of the door.  It slammed shut behind them like a clang of doom.

"Easy. Relax." Luciente drew Neville along, leading him across a living room littered with naked, sleeping bodies.  Neville was astonished to see a large crucifix nailed to one of the walls.  Beneath it was the woman he'd seen earlier that morning, naked and splayed on the couch, still clutching the leash of her young man.  He snoozed with his face resting against her fleshy thighs.

"What is this place?" Neville demanded.

"A place of worship," Luciente replied.  "Here we honor God's greatest gifts to us."

"This is a church?" Neville squeaked in disbelief.  "No, I really shouldn't be in here.  I'm not allowed!"

"All things are allowed in here, my friend."  Luciente continued on, now wrapping his brawny arm around Neville's waist.  "God made our bodies for pleasure.  Why should we deny ourselves that?"

"You don't understand!"

Neville started to struggle, but Luciente just picked him up by the waist and carried him on.  When they reached the bedroom, the large man dumped him on the floor.  The king-sized bed was a jumble of tangled sheets and bare limbs.  The air was thick with the scents of sweat and semen.  Curls of acrid blue smoke rose up from a small ceramic ashtray on the nightstand and stung Neville's eyes.

"Is that... marijuana?"

"You want some?" Luciente pushed Neville toward the bed.  He picked up a fat twist of paper from the ashtray and offered it to his guest.  "It might help you relax."

"No.  Definitely no.  Look, this isn't what I came here for-"

Luciente tossed the blunt aside.  "No, I suppose not.  You look like you've got bigger things on your mind."

With a sweep of his hand, Luciente pulled off the bath towel and dropped it to the floor.  Neville gaped at the naked body before him.  The man's erection stood straight up.  It was thick and long, but not so long as to be ridiculous.  In fact, Neville would have described the proportions as divine, definitely the handiwork of God.

"Please," he whispered.  "I can't.  I'm forbidden..."

Luciente pulled Neville up and put a hand to his lips. "It's all right. God understands your need."

"That's the problem!  He understands and forbids—"

But Luciente didn't listen.  He cut off all further arguments with a lingering kiss and pushed Neville onto the bed.  One of the sleepers grunted and roused.  She looked up at Neville with a dreamy expression.

"Hello gorgeous," she murmured.  "Come to play in Eden?"

She reached toward him, pulling him down into the pile of naked bodies. She drew his glasses off and kissed him while Luciente worked on his pants, unfastening the belt and tugging at them until Neville lay there naked from the waist down.  The woman slid a hand between his legs to stroke his swollen cock.  Luciente slid another hand under Neville's sweater vest to tease his nipples.

"Oh God!" Neville wailed as waves of pleasure rippled through him.  "Oh God, please!"

"That's right, brother," Luciente said.  "Let your prayers to the All Mighty be joyous!"

Shadowy figures drifted in through the bedroom door and soon more hands stroked Neville's body.  He raised his head, squinting.  The older woman and her boy toy had roused and were now working their way up his legs, nuzzling and kissing as they went.  When they reached his groin, they kissed briefly then set to work licking and sucking Neville's cock until he felt an unholy fire burning in his loins.  Neville collapsed back on the pillow, thrashing and crying to Heaven.

"That's it!" Luciente cried.  "Don't hold back.  Give in to all your desires.  God made the human form for pleasure, and why should we deny ourselves?  Others would have you believe that to deny the flesh is the only way to salvation, and sex is a sin that will corrupt your soul. But I say the corruption of your misguided innocence will be your salvation..."

"But I'm not innocent at all!"

Neville's voice came out in a low, dangerous growl. Luciente looked up, startled.  He began to back away, but it was already too late.  The fire inside Neville had already built to an inferno.  The flames of his orgasm flared out of the tip of his cock, incinerating the couple who fellated him.  He opened his mouth and roared, releasing more flames and roasting the woman beside him.  The conflagration almost drowned out Luciente's screams of terror.  Almost.  But Neville could still hear him and he was so damned tired of that voice!  That voice that kept him up at all hours of the night, worshiping God with his body and soul, reveling in the holy delights that had been forever denied to him! Neville rose off the bed and turned toward Luciente, aiming his cock at the prophet of love and lust.  He stroked himself—once, twice, a third time—and let loose a stream of Hellfire on his unwitting tormentor.

Neville made short work of the rest of Luciente's flock, hosing them all down with his pent-up, unholy sexual frustration.  When at last he'd exhausted himself, he collapsed on the couch beneath the crucifix.  He slept well into the next day.  When he awoke, he surveyed the destruction and wept.

_______
© 2009 Helen E. H. Madden. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Helen E. H. Madden? Read her bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.

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