The Estate
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 9
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 - Life on a modern housing estate, interactions, infidelity, shenanigans and blackmail all occur in a small radius of just a few houses
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Teenagers Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Incest Mother Sister Interracial White Male Indian Female Oral Sex
It had been a while since I had seen her; I opened the door when it knocked, and Margaret stood there.
“Hello, stranger.” I greeted her, “How are you? Do you want to come in?”
“Yes please,” she said, “and I am fine.”
She came in and shut the door behind her, following me into the kitchen. “Coffee?” I asked.
“Yes, please. Our Lord has spoken to me. He is pleased that I have taken my life back but is displeased that I have not shown the right gratitude.”
I mean, come on. I am sure that she has a screw loose. I am neither a believer nor a disbeliever, but I have honestly never encountered someone who has actual conversations with God. “Oh, well, I am sure God will get over it.” I was trying very hard to not be obviously flippant.
She took the coffee from me and sat at the kitchen table. “I am sure he will,” she said, “but will you?”
“What do you mean? I am totally fine.” Well, I was. I was getting my satisfaction in a number of ways from a number of sources, some of which, to the straight-laced Margaret’s of this world, will seem like the very worst of behaviour. Tough.
“You showed me the true pleasures of my body. You let me see that my husband was not behaving as a husband should.”
‘Do I behave as a husband should?’ I wondered, ‘I doubt it,’ I answered myself quietly.
“Speaking of your husband,” I interrupted, “what is happening with him?”
“It is all sorted. Separation papers have been served with a letter explaining the reasons and naming his lady friend. The letter goes on to say that if he contests, then papers will also be served on his lady friend. Also, as he lived in my mother’s house and did not pay rent, that my mother would, should he wish to contest, be seeking back rent from him for the time he was there.”
“Hard ball, I didn’t know that you could do that.”
“I have just done what my solicitor has advised. Also, my mother wants to transfer the house into my name now that my husband is gone. She never liked him really, so the house was always in her name. I think it would go into trust if she died, unless I was single, in which case it would come to me.”
“I think if she transfers it to you early enough before her death, you would save on death duties.” I was pretty sure I had read that somewhere, more than ten years prior, but I couldn’t be positive.”
“Anyway, that is not why I am here.”
“Okay, not just a social visit then?” I asked, my smile firmly hidden.
“Our Lord is not happy that I have not shown the proper gratitude to you; you deserve more, and Our Lord is keen that you return to him. Our church council prayer group has a circle focusing on you. We are praying for your protection.”
Okay then. Woof woof. “Protection? From what, Margaret? I am fine.”
“Your soul may be under attack. You have fornicated outside the sanctity of your marriage. Even though you and your wife do not couple, you must remain true to her, and by not doing so, your soul is weakened and could be open to the evil of hell.”
If she knew even the half of it, she would have every church in the world praying. “Margaret, it is fine; I was drawn simply to save you. It was you that was at risk, at risk of harm from your husband. I am fine; you and your church friends do not need to worry about me. And what would those Church friends think if they knew about us? I presume that they don’t.”
“They do not know. I have lied by omission, and I have atoned before Our Lord for that. I must save your soul.”
“Margaret, my soul is fine. However, my carnal desires grow stronger in your presence.” Well, why not try and take advantage?
“You should control those desires; that is your soul weakening under the psychic attack.”
“No, Margaret, it is my desire to take you to my bedroom, to see you naked and to kiss your secret places, to receive the gratitude Your Lord guided you into pleasuring me with.”
“We shouldn’t, your soul...”
“My soul is fine, Margaret.” I stood and took her hand, raising her to her feet. “My body, on the other hand, needs to know you once more. That knowledge of you helps me build protection walls around my soul. That is the way He has spoken.” I led her through the kitchen and up to my bedroom.
In the bedroom I turned her to me, took her head in my hands, dipped and kissed her, gently at first and then more passionately. At first she was a little resistant, and then my kisses were returned with warmth and passion. She held my hard dick through my trousers.
I undid the buttons of her blouse and pulled it open. Her bra choice was still the plain, functional white device. I slipped the blouse off her shoulders and over her arms, dropping it to the floor before unfastening her bra and letting it join her blouse. The button and zip on her skirt were next, and that too puddled on the floor. Fingers in their waistband, I pushed her knickers down, dropping to my knees to get them completely down. She stepped out of each knicker leg, and then she was naked, my nose inches from her neat garden.
I licked her. From the bottom of her sex to the top.
“Mmmm” was her response. I kissed again, this time my tongue slightly protruding in between the lips of her sex. She was wet and ready – interesting. Is this what she really came for? All this God-mumbo-jumbo was just to find an excuse to get fucked? I moved up and down her slit, my tongue pressing in a little more each time until my tongue was sliding across her sex floor, her fanny lips pushed wide apart. Her knees were crooked apart, her legs bent. “Lay on the bed; you’ll be more comfortable.” I said as I gently pushed her back.
“I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t, but...”
“Hush now. You should, you really should.” I slipped out of my chinos and t-shirt and joined her on the bed. I nibbled her left nipple as I slid 2 fingers into her, bending and straightening them.
“Oh,” she gasped as I started to fuck her with my fingers. I removed my fingers, lay on her and pressed my dick where my fingers had been. Slowly I entered her, pushing in until I was fully inside her.
“Oh, my Lord,” as I began to slowly withdraw, “Oh, yes,” and then a long groan as I pushed back into her, her lips forced apart as my dick filled her. I began my fuck a little faster and a little harder, ensuring I could feel the bottom of her fanny on my dick, my dickhead pushing into her womb, and my belly slapping onto hers as we fucked.
She was gurgling as I fucked, strange mumbles and burbles, all incomprehensible, her fingers scrabbling at my back as I pressed her body further into my bed, unrelenting as fucked without pause. I felt my groin tighten, my balls compressed, and as I roared, I filled her with my cum. Two, then three slow but deep presses, and my balls were empty.
Margaret was making noises between her gasps of air. Her hands were now flapping ineffectively at my back, and as I slipped out of her and rolled onto my back, she let out a big sigh. “Oh, Jase.”
I looked across at her; her face was red, her chest flushed between her breasts, her fanny was pulsing, and her fingers were opening and closing. I leant down and just made the lightest touch on her nubbin, and she arched off the bed, “aarrrgghhhhhhhhh” she screamed as her orgasm hit.
“I am so angry,” she said when her composure had been restored.
“Why?”
“Because my husband could have been doing this all these years and he didn’t, and so I lost out; I missed out on the pleasures Our Lord gave us. I am just so annoyed with him. I wonder if he does that with his girlfriend?”
“I expect if she was used to it before she took up with him, then, yes, she would expect him to. I wonder why, when he found out what pleasure could be had, why he did not do it with you? It is so much better when you both enjoy.”
“Perhaps he was I afraid I would ask him how he knew of these pleasures.”
“Maybe.”
“Anyway, he is living with her now.”
“Ha ha, I bet that is fun; I bet she never expected that.”
“She is welcome to him. I don’t care.”
Mrs D wanted a word. Mrs D is our cleaner; she pops in on a Monday and Thursday morning each week for 2 hours each time, changes the bed, puts the bedding in the washing machine, vacuums, dusts, cleans the kitchen and empties and reloads the dishwasher as required. Just general cleaning stuff. Her name is Helena, something unpronounceable beginning with DZ, Polish. I think, so we simply call her Mrs D.
“Jason,” she always called me Jason, never Jase or by my surname, always ‘Jason’. “My rent has gone up. I am finding it difficult to pay.”
Mrs D is thirty-something, scrawny, and looks like a big meal would kill her, and a gust of wind would have her away over the hills. Her voice, however, has an Eastern European accent, has a tone that sounds as if it is coated in velvet, and is soft to the ear.
“Yes, Mrs D, everything is going up in cost; inflation is just ridiculous at the moment. All our costs are going up, yet our income remains the same.”
“Jason, I have to have more money from you; I have to put up my costs.”
“Mrs D, I sympathise, I do, but we have a contract, eleven pounds an hour for your services, paid in cash weekly in arrears on Fridays. And that contract has another nine months to run and then is due to go up, as agreed, by the rate of inflation. The only option I can see is to mutually agree to cancel the contract and let you find another client that can pay you more. I am in the same position myself, and I cannot go to my clients and put up my rate. I can only renegotiate at contract renewal.”
The truth is that we don’t really need a cleaner, and so I am not keen on paying anymore. We have a cleaner because we can, and she makes things a little easier two days a week. We could just as easily do it ourselves and buy a robot vacuum for the vacuuming that Mrs D does.
“Jason, it is difficult for me. I cannot afford to lose your contract. Could I possibly have more hours?”
“Mrs D, the house is not big enough for more hours; you already do a very good job on the two days that you are here. I do not see what else you could do if we were to give you more hours. I am sorry.”
She looked at me and seemed to be unsure of what to do. I wondered if she was going to cut her losses and cancel the contract. “Perhaps,” she said, “there are other things I could do for you?”
I had no idea what she was thinking off. The lawn is Astro turf and needs minimal maintenance; we don’t have flower or shrub borders. I suppose she could wash the car, but I tend to go through the drive-through car wash, and that is a lot cheaper than an hour of her time.
“I was thinking perhaps I could offer a more,” she paused, looked me in the eye and then her eyes looked up to the ceiling, “a more personal service, for just you.”
My mind goes into boggle mode. I don’t think she could be suggesting what my brain is thinking.
“Oh? What do you have in mind?” She can spell it out; I am not going to make any assumptions.
She stood with hands on hips, chest thrust forward, and looked directly at my eyes then looked down to my crotch. “Before I change the bed on Mondays, perhaps I could help you in the bed, I mean.”
Okay then, she was offering me her body in some way. “Help me how?”
“I could, perhaps, offer you my hand.”
“Well, I can do that myself, and that would not take an hour.”
“What do you mean, an hour, Jason?”
“Well, if we did come to some agreement for you to help me, personally, and you wanted paying for that time, then the only way I could do that legally would be to employ you for a further hour of your services, so Mondays and Thursdays would be three hours of your time, with one hour of each day up in the bedroom.”
“Why legally?”
“Are you offering to help me sexually? It would not be legal for me to pay you for sexual services.”
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