Stolen from the Marital Bed
Stolen from the Marital Bed
Chapter 1: The New Neighbor’s Eye
Toby lived in the comfortable rhythm of his home, a nice house in an undeniably great neighborhood. He was an 18 year old college going student working hard to become a successful businessman. Life at home was easy and predictable: his mother, Clara, was a devoted housewife, who took care of everything; and his father, Noah, worked the fields, making a solid living for them both. Everyone in town respected Noah, he was handsome enough even though age was starting to wear little aches around him. Meanwhile, Clara was artfully sculpted by god for worship. She had that perfect curvy hourglass figure; breasts big and beautiful enough to pull breath from anyone, set against the cascade of her long blonde hair and startling blue eyes. She’d never known any man but Noah since their wedding day, and he was the absolute love of her life. For Toby, they were the golden standard, the model couple, and he always felt a deep seated longing to find a woman as genuinely devoted and faithful as his mother.
Next to them was a small empty house that had been vacant for a very long time, but on one hot summer day, this dust gathering house came to life when a car pulled in, followed by a beat up truck loaded with furniture. They weren’t alone anymore, they were gaining neighbors, and the one who walked out of the small car wasn't part of any normal family scene. It was Marcus. He was enormous, a towering black man whose arms looked carved from dark wood and sheer muscle, standing easily at 6’2. His cropped hair didn't soften the intensity in his eyes; they were mean, watchful, and utterly ready for trouble. (Toby wouldn’t know yet that Marcus had just walked out of five years behind bars, convicted of assaults against eight white women, a history as heavy as his physique.)
The sheer presence of him made Toby flinch, he kept his gaze low, tripping over his own feet as Marcus passed, but it was from the kitchen window that the true connection sparked. Through the glass pane, Marcus’s eyes found Clara, an innocent lovely housewife baking for her family. The look wasn't merely appreciation, but an assessment. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips as he seemed to lick them deliberately while looking at a faithful wife, letting nothing escape his dark gaze. He didn't just find fun with the neighbors; he surveyed a ripe feast.
The unease started subtly that evening when Noah came home from the farm. Clara served him supper, passing along stories about their new neighbor, and his workout routine in his garage. Although Noah smiled at the update, he noticed the slight flinch at the edges of her blue eyes which was enough to catch the discomfort with the new man in the neighborhood.
Noah was a good man, and he did not like stereotypes about anyone, even black men. He did not believe that all black men were lions and that the white men should protect their women from the predators that are the muscular black men. He also believed that a convict is a free man after serving his time, and no prejudice should be applied to him. The next morning, he decided they had to meet him properly. So, at 7:00am, before Noah headed out to work and Toby began school, father and son walked over to introduce themselves to the hulking neighbor.
Knocking on the door a few times, the dad and the son were met by a towering hulk of a man in tight underwear.
Marcus: What the fuck do you want punks?
His voice wasn't just loud… it was gravelly, challenging, and immediate.
Marcus didn't wait for an invitation; he dismissed them immediately.
Noah blinked, caught off guard by such rude greeting, but he recovered fast, and managed to respond.
Noah: We’re your neighbors.
The big black man’s sharp demeanor softened slightly as smiled while remembering Clara, and getting to meet her white wimp husband and son. Marcus let out a little chuckle, and shook Noah's hand with a firm grip. Noah immediately noticed the strength of this black man as he watched the big biceps rippling with muscles and veins. After introducing themselves and wishing him a nice stay in the neighborhood, the father and the son went to their normal routines. Marcus, meanwhile, had no stable job to waste time on. He relied on ping ponging between pimping white married women for cash and working the security desk at the local nightclub when he needed steady money. His life was built on temporary encounters and tonight, it felt like a whole new hunting ground.
For now, Marcus was not content with passive neighborliness, he needed to prove his raw engine of desire. He abandoned the front yard's polite distance, moving instead toward the overgrown backyard where a forgotten patch of sun beat down, perfect for flexing. He made himself comfortable at the stacks of weights, and as he began his warm up set, his body began to unfold in the glare. To look at him was to see peak performance, he wasn't merely fit; he was a black muscle god built for commanding attention.
Clara’s morning ritual was always airing out: hanging the sheets, spreading the bright linens. She never had any neighbours, and was definitely not used to sharing her domestic breathing space with such raw, open masculinity. As she stepped into the light, she was blinded by his display, he stood apart from the mundane task of laundry day, clad only in faded blue boxers that strained tautly across his powerful hips and thighs. The sight snagged her breath, pulling it short, and making the simple act of hanging washed clothes difficult.
Marcus didn’t let the moment get over so easily, he shifted his stance slightly to get the maximum view of the faithful wife’s back, and while doing so he let out a deep, resonant sound. It was a whistle not just aimed at her back, but directed deliberately on the curve of her waistline beneath the apron.
These were no accidental passing sounds, but calls meant for her that hit Clara like an electric jolt making her cheeks bloom instantly into a heat that matched the June sun. She snapped around, bracing herself against the washing basket, only to find him standing there as he dropped the 40lbs dumbbells he was lifting, to catch her wide eyed reaction with a grin that was pure, unapologetic confidence.
Marcus: You look surprised.
He said while enjoying the tremor in her stance.
She mumbled something weak about the heat, but he didn't let it slide. Instead, he winked before returning to his impressive display of biceps, leaving Clara flushed, unsteady, and utterly exposed by her own quickening breath. She snatched the nearest sheet, pulling herself back into the monotonous task, a knot of hot, thrilling confusion tightening in her stomach. He was too bold and vulgar for a mother.
That day the flush of his gestures fogged her mind, but she didn't tell her husband and son what happened. She knew Marcus was in a gang, and it may cause unwarranted problems to her loving family. She just decided to stay out of his way.
Chapter 2: The Bathroom Window
The next day at noon, Clara was in the kitchen doing the dishes when she noticed that her window was directly facing Marcus's bathroom window, and it was completely open at that time. A few moments later, she saw Marcus entering the bathroom in his boxers, and was all sweaty from his intense workout. When he began to take off his boxers, ...