The Reluctant Housewife and the Burly Downstairs Brute
Part 2 of the series. Jump to Chapter 2 | Jump to Chapter 3 | Jump to Chapter 4 | Jump to Chapter 5 | Jump to Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Shattering the Facade 💥
I slammed the washer door so hard the whole machine rattled in our cramped apartment basement. Suds sloshed over the edge, soaking my sneakers. Derek had just walked in, whistling some dumb tune from his office playlist, tie loosened like he owned the world. He sidled up behind me, hands sliding around my waist, lips brushing my ear.
“Rough day, babe? Let me make it better,” he murmured, his fingers dipping toward my jeans button.
Something snapped inside me, a wire pulled too tight. I spun, shoving him back against the dryer. His eyes went wide, like a deer in headlights. “What the hell, Elena?”
“You think it’s that easy? Push, push, push—like I’m some fucking vending machine for your dick!” My voice echoed off the concrete walls, raw and ragged. I could still taste him—Harlan, the brute from downstairs—bitter and thick on my tongue. The memory burned.
Derek blinked, hands up in surrender. “Whoa, I was just—”
“Just what? Grabbing what you want? Like every goddamn man!” Tears stung, hot and furious. I’d scrubbed my mouth raw upstairs, but the salt lingered. Harlan’s grunts replayed in my head, his meaty paws forcing me down.
He backed off, face paling under the fluorescent buzz. The air down here smelled of damp laundry and mildew, clinging like guilt. I stormed past, shoulder clipping his, leaving him stammering in the shadows.
Upstairs in our shoebox kitchen, I paced. Derek trailed in minutes later, sheepish. “Elena, talk to me. Did I do something?”
I whirled. “It’s not just you. It’s everything. I slave all day—laundry, meals, this dump—while you waltz in expecting a blowjob on demand.”
His mouth opened, closed. For once, no comeback. Good. That silence fed something dark in me, a thrill twisting low in my belly.
“Sleep on the couch,” I hissed. Door slammed. Locked.
Alone, heart pounding, I stripped. Mirror showed my curves—full tits, wide hips, brunette waves tousled. But my eyes… hungry. Angry. I touched myself, fingers circling my slick folds. Not for Derek. For the rage. For him.
Chapter 2: The Brute’s Sneaky Comeback
Flashback to hours earlier. I’d dodged Harlan for days after that sink nightmare—his callused hands pinning me, cock splitting me open while Derek golfed oblivious miles away. Our old brick apartment building creaked like bones, shared garage a dim cave of oil stains and rust.
I was hauling trash bags when his boots thudded behind me. Harlan. Not the greasy slob from tales, but a towering ex-trucker—silver-streaked black hair, barrel chest straining a faded flannel, jeans hugging thick thighs. Sixty-something, but built like warped oak, scars mapping forearms from road wars.
“Elena, darlin’,” he drawled, Kentucky gravel in his voice. Held a six-pack, condensation dripping. “Brought these. Peace offerin’ after… last time.”
I froze, plastic bags heavy in my grip. His scent hit—sweat-musk, motor oil, faint whiskey. “Leave me alone, Harlan. Gate’s that way.”
He shuffled closer, boots scraping gravel. Those hazel eyes, sad-puppy under bushy brows. “I was too rough. Lonely as hell, see? Wife ditched me years back. No one’s touched me like you did—er, helped me.”
Pity wormed in. He looked… broken. Massive frame slumped. “Just beers, then gone?” I muttered, hating my softening.
His grin split wide, yellowed teeth flashing. “You’re a saint, girl.”
Against every scream in my skull, I nodded toward the side door. Up to my kitchen—his bulk filling the frame, air thickening with his presence. Fridge hummed. I grabbed glasses, ice clinking sharp.
He crowded in, belly brushing my back as I reached for bottles. “Here, let ol’ Harlan…” One hand clamped my hip, the other palmed my asscheek through denim. Squeeze. Hard.
“Stop!” I yelped, glass slipping. But his breath scorched my neck—hot, beery. “Please, darlin’. Just a feel. You got the finest rump this side o’ the Mississippi.”
His fingers dug in, kneading. I should’ve kneed him. Instead, memories flooded: his girth stretching me last time, unwanted fire igniting.
“You promised sorry,” I whispered, voice cracking like thin ice.
“I am, sugar. Gentler now. Help a poor widower?” Cock nudged my crack, rigid pipe through layers. Shame pooled, hot between thighs.
“One touch. Then out.” Lame. Defeated.
He chuckled low. “Atta girl.” Hands roamed bolder, unzipping my jeans with fumbling urgency. Fabric whispered down calves. Cool air kissed bare skin. My thong—damp already?—yanked aside.
“Look at that juicy slit,” he growled, spinning me. Counter dug into ass. His gaze devoured my trimmed bush, pink lips glistening traitorous.
“Pretty as sin.” He snatched my wrist, pressed palm to his bulge. Iron bar throbbed. “Feel what you do to me? Gotta fix it, Elena. Be my good neighbor.”
Trembling fingers obeyed, zipper rasping. No boxers. Out sprang his beast—uncut, veiny monster, purple head oozing precum. Reeked of musk, unwashed drive. Girth dwarfed my hand.
“Stroke it, honey. Up… down… yeah.” His paw guided mine. Skin slid velvety over steel. He grunted, hips bucking lazy.
Disgust warred heat. Power flickered—I controlled his bliss. “Like this?” Stroke faster, thumb swiping slit. Pearly drop smeared salty on skin.
“Fuck yes. Tighter. You’re magic.” Eyes rolled, chest heaving. One hand cupped his heavy, furred nutsack. Rolled orbs like ripe plums. He moaned deep, animal rumble vibrating my bones.
Rhythm built. Slick sounds filled kitchen—schlick-schlick. His pre lubed my grip. My cunt clenched empty, juices trickling thigh.
Chapter 3: Tongue’s Treacherous Dance 🔥
“Darlin’, that mouth… lemme feel your hot tongue? Just a taste.” Harlan’s plea dripped need, cock twitching in my fist.
Knees buckled before brain caught up. Tile bit cold through nylons. Face inches from throbbing meat. Veins pulsed like rivers. That tang—sharp, male—filled nostrils.
“Just licks. No more.” Defensive whisper. Tongue flicked out, lapping crown. Bitter-salt exploded. He hissed, fingers tangling my hair—not pulling, guiding.
“Goddamn heaven.” I swirled, tracing ridge. His flavor coated tongue, invasive. Another lap, bolder. Stem to balls—wrinkled sack licked slow, hairs tickling lips.
“Suck the head, Elena. Please.” Whine cracked his growl. Lips parted. Mushroom cap breached—stretchy, hot. Sucked gentle, cheeks hollowing. Hands pumped shaft base.
He tasted of sin, pulsing on palate. Control mine—depth, speed. Until hips rolled. “Deeper, babe.”
I hummed denial around him. But fire built. New hunger. His groans? Fuel. Garage gravel under tires outside, distant. My world: his cock, my mouth.
“Fuck, your suck… best ever.” Praise lit nerves. I bobbed, tongue dancing frenetic. Saliva drooled chin, strings gleaming.
Then shift. His thighs tensed. “Gonna—” Warning grunt. I pulled, but paws clamped skull. Iron vise. Thrust! Cock rammed throat, gagging me violent.
Glurk-glurk—chokes wet. Nose buried pubes, musk choking. Tears streamed. “Take it, slut-helper!” Mask slipped. Brute reborn.
Pounded merciless. Balls slapped chin. Lungs screamed. Black edged vision. Then—eruption. Hose unleashed. Thick ropes blasted gullet, force-fed swallow or drown.
Bitter flood, endless. Coated insides. He bellowed, hips grinding final drops. Released. I collapsed coughing, cum bubbling lips. Spat ropes on floor. Rage boiled.
Harlan zipped, smirking. “Technicality—down throat, not mouth.” Waddled out, beers forgotten. Door banged.
I crawled, thighs slick. Not just spit. Arousal. The fuck?
Later, Derek’s push reignited it all. Now, post-rant, bed locked. Fingers delved pussy, replaying violation. Climax shattered—silent scream. Shame-gasmed.
Chapter 4: Power’s Bitter Brew
Derek knocked soft. “Elena? Hurtin’ here.”
Silence. Unlock clicked. He peeked. “Come,” I commanded.
Bed creaked under him. Distance. “Hold me?” Plea.
“If careful.” Spooned. His cock stirred against ass—soft nudge. But I gripped his wrist, pinned. “No pushing.”
He froze. “Sorry.”
Minutes stretched. My hand snaked back, palmed his growing bulge. Surprise gasp. “Elena?”
“Shut up.” Jeans shoved down. His dick—average, neat—sprang. I stroked lazy, mimicking Harlan’s lesson. Derek whimpered.
“You want this?” Tease. Grip tightened. He nodded frantic.
“Beg.” Voice steel.
“Please, babe… jack me.”
Faster. Pre slicked palm. “Faster? Like your whore?” Twisted words from Harlan’s script. My cunt throbbed.
He bucked helpless. Balls cupped—smooth shaven, unlike furry beasts. “Gonna cum—”
“No.” Stopped. Edged. He whined pathetic. Power surged, pussy clenching air.
Resumed. Twisted wrist final pump. He spurted ropes on sheets, guttural cry. Spent, cuddling closer. I smirked dark. Harlan’s violation? Gift.
Sleep came twisted. Dreams: both men on knees, me wielding cocks like weapons.
Chapter 5: Garage Reckoning 💋
Next dawn, coffee bitter. Derek tiptoed, making eggs—clumsy amends. Wholesome. Boring.
Laundry called. Basement again. Bags thumped. Footsteps—heavy. Harlan loomed, toolbox rattling. “Forgot this. And… seein’ you.”
Rage spiked. But thighs warmed. “Out.”
“Wait.” Toolbox dropped. He knelt—massive frame folding. “I’s wrong. Pushed too hard. But you… lit fire long dead.”
On knees? Me towering. Shift. “Prove sorry.” Unzipped his fly. Cock lolled half-hard. Slapped cheek. “Suck.”
Eyes widened. “Darlin’?”
“Now.” Thrust forward. He engulfed, slurping eager. Rough tongue, beard scraping thighs. I gripped hair, fucking face brutal.
Glurks echoed. His gag? Music. “Choke on it, brute.”
Pulled out. Bent over washer. “Eat ass.” Tongue dove, rimming fervent. Wet laps, probing ring. Shocks electric.
“Finger cunt.” Two thick digits plunged, curling G-spot. I bucked, moans raw. Smell—my arousal mixing his sweat—heady fog.
“Fuck me. Hard.” He rose, slammed home. Girth split walls, balls-deep. Fucked like piston—clang of machine syncing slaps.
“Who’s boss?” Gasped amid thrusts.
“You! Fuck, Elena!” Roared. Climax ripped me first—walls milking. He flooded, hot jets painting womb.
Collapsed panting. Pulled out, cum dribbling thighs. “Mine now,” I whispered. Kissed forehead. He nodded dazed.
Chapter 6: Cravings Unleashed
Derek noticed shift. Evening, couch. I straddled, riding reverse. His eyes—awed. “Boss me,” I purred.
Anal first—lube slick, his tip breaching ring. Inch by inch, burned sweet. Bounced, tits jiggling. “Deeper!”
He obeyed, thumbs spreading cheeks. Fullness obscene. Rubbed clit frantic. Dual peaks crashed—ass clenching cock vice.
His spurts filled bowels, warm leak. We collapsed laughing. Bond new—me alpha.
But Harlan? Texts buzzed. Need helper soon. Door open.
Smirked. Game evolved. I’d own them both. Pity? Power. The brute downstairs, oblivious husband—pawns in my erotic empire.
Nights blurred: Harlan’s garage gangbangs fantasy—ropes binding, triple stuffed dreams. Derek collared, begging. Real? Border blurred.
One eve, both summoned. Door cracked. Harlan first—bent over table, ass up. Derek entered, saw. Froze.
“Join or watch.” Command. He stripped, cock raging jealous. Harlan grunted as I pegged—strap-on thrusting. Derek fed mouth.
Orgy frenzy. Holes filled—cocks swapping, cum baths. Tastes mingled: salty, sweet sin. Air thick moans, flesh slaps, musk ocean.
Dawn broke. Bodies tangled, sated. Mine the throne.
No more victim. Queen of cravings. And it? Just beginning. 🔥
