Chapter 4: Number 5 and Number 7

There is not much to be said about number 5. In this case you could talk about 'provincial' and 'boring', or maybe I just do not know what has been going on earlier. Today it is occupied by an old couple in their eighties, and all the years I lived in the street there was no hanky panky with them. A retired fisherman he is a stout and weather-beaten man, and she is your archetype grandmother and great grandmother. Solid, kind, always busy and taking care of a lot of things.

But number 7 ! When my attention was attracted to them they were in their mid thirties. Two nice and kind persons, and their children just as nice and well behaved. Helly was a school secretary and Peter was a clerk at the town hall. Not two very well paid jobs, but taking care of the pennies assured them a comfortable life in the house, which was their big hobby. Peter was very proficient with his hands, and Helly had done a lot of preliminary work in the city archives, so today their house was definitely the best restored in the street. Best in the way that it was absolutely true to its original looks.

I had lived in the street for four years before I noticed anything. In the afternoon the kids were picked up by the grannies for a weekend in Legoland, and at around 7 three couples arrived at number 7. At about 9 I went for a short walk, and nothing out of the ordinary took place. From the windows of number 7 I could hear music, and people could be seen dancing. But when I returned from my walk about an hour later it looked as if the house was empty. No light, no people, no party. Quite early, I had to admit, and it tickled my curiosity. I went home (I lived in number 11) and changed into a black cotton coat and a black hat. Then I went down to my back garden and along the path running behind the fences of all houses in Smallstreet.

Number 7 was the only house in Smallstreet, which had a basement. And it was not even a proper basement; more like a first floor dug a couple of feet into the ground. A thin stripe of light penetrated the curtains, and I just could not help myself; my curiosity demanded satisfaction. What I saw through that narrow opening in the basement curtains had started five years earlier.

Helly and Peter had been married for 7 years when they ran head on into a severe stalemate. It was absolutely no case of the 'seven year itch'; it was more a case of the 'missing itch'. Two highly active children, quite demanding jobs for both, work on the house, and then the 30-year syndrome: Your future seems put on rails, some of the dreams of your youth never came through, and the days turn monotonous and bleak. Each factor on its own would have been easily handled, but together they formed an efficient 'passion killer', and gradually their lovemaking deteriorated into once a week, once every two weeks and once every month, if the weather was not too bad.

On a gloriously warm afternoon in June they had filled up one of those portable plastic pools for the kids to play with in the back garden. A little later Helly jokingly splashed a shower of water onto Peter, as he was sunning himself beside the pool. Equally jokingly Peter chased her round the garden, and right in front of their kids their love life took a drastic turn. He caught her, wrestled her down on the grass, held her arms, and jokingly started spanking her round bottom through her bikini briefs. Peter had expected her to fight back, but suddenly she went very soft in his hands, and her heavy breathing was no longer caused by their running around. It was just a short moment, because the kids thought it great fun, and came running to take part in the joke, but the moment was not forgotten.

That night when they were undressing for bed, Peter saw that Helly had not changed her bikini into underwear, as she always did. When she took off her summer dress she was standing in her bikini, very conscious of what she was doing. Fortunately Peter is a very sensitive man, and he immediately percepted her wish.

"Come over here, Helly. I think I didn't finish that spanking you deserve for splashing water on me." Slowly, without saying a word, she walked up to him. Her nervousness showed clearly in her slow steps, because this time it was not for fun, and she only had a faint idea of how she would react. In one swift movement he wrestled her down on their bed, lying face down, and when he had grabbed both her wrists with his left hand, he started slapping her pretty, round bottom. Quickly her breathing changed, just like it had done in the garden.

"Don't you move while I take off your top." Peter let go of her hands, and true to his order she stayed where she was. When her top was off, he grabbed her hands again, and in a very determined way he dealt her 10 slaps on her arse and the backside of her thighs. This time Helly wriggled her hips, but not as if to avoid him, more like she tried to make her ass even more vulnerable. Strong currents of passion and submission cursed through her body and her mind, and her breathing became more ragged. After the last slap Peter let his hand rest on the backside of her thighs, and a little later he slowly and deliberately moved it up between the insides of her thighs until he touched her cunt through the panties. Her gusset was dripping wet. "She must have anticipated this for hours," he thought, "she couldn't get this wet in just a few minutes." He pulled out his hand and said:

"In a little while I shall let go of your hands for a short moment. That doesn't mean your punishment is over. I only want you to stand up and take off those panties, and then turn round to show me that pink arse you've got." As if to emphasize his words he landed another two slaps on her, and then he let go. Helly got up from the bed, and stood in front of him for a little while, knees trembling, and a host of new sensations running through her. Then she hitched her thumbs into her waistband, and pulled down her panties and stepped out of them. When she was standing upright again she turned round and stood dead still, showing her glowing arse to her husband. Peter ran his hand gently across the pink, hot skin, and Helly shivered at the difference of his touch. When he grabbed her hips and pushed, as if to turn her round again, she willingly followed his silent direction. Peter was still sitting on the edge of their bed with Helly standing close in front of him, when he said: "Spread your legs. I want to feel how wet my cunt is."

Helly was a little puzzled by his words, but willingly she moved her right foot, now standing with legs spread and her cunt on display. "Put your hands on your hips and push my cunt closer to me, but don't move your feet." Helly couldn't hold back a loud gasp of excitement when his hand finally touched her naked cunt. And wet she was. Very wet. Peter pulled back his hand and showed her the glistening juices on it. "Mmm, my cunt is deliciously juicy tonight. Only a pity it's hidden by too much hair. Go and fetch your sharpest pair of scissors, I want to trim it."

"But I've never done that before. I don't want you to trim it."

In one very fast movement Peter pulled her down across his lap and landed 5 hard slaps on her arse. Then he lifted her off again and made her stand in front of him. "Didn't you hear me tell you that it's MY cunt?"

"Yes, Peter, I heard it."

"And can't I do to my cunt what I want to do?"

"Yes, Peter."

"All right, then. Go and fetch the scissors."

Helly quickly fetched the little pair of scissors from their medicine cabinet in the bathroom. When she returned she handed it to him and said:

"These are the sharpest we've got, Peter. But please be careful."

He looked at her pussy for a little while, snipping the scissors in the air. "No, dear, this is not a safe angle to do it. Come and lie down on your back across the bed, and I'll see what I can do." He stood looking down at her as she stretched out on the bed, her ass close to the edge. Suddenly he turned round and grabbed the wire, connecting the lamp on his dresser. Then he went to the other side of the bed and pulled her arms together over her head, quickly tied her wrists together, and then secured their position over her head by tying them down to the side of the bed.

"You see, I've better make sure that you stay where I want you. Now, open your legs and lift your knees up to your breasts."

Never had she felt so vulnerable and degraded, and her pussy started running again. With his left arm supporting her thighs Peter now started cutting her pussyhair very short. Around her arse and her pussy lips first, which elicited a few scared gasps from Helly, when she felt the scissors touch her most vulnerable places. Then up to her abundant bush, which soon was a lot less abundant. When he had finished cutting, Peter fetched a warm, wet washrag from the bathroom and removed the snippets of hair from her body and from the bed. "My God, Helly, you look absolutely ravishing. I can really see how your cunt has opened up." He ran a finger from her bellybutton down across her protruding mons and all the way down touching her clit, vagina and arse. "And deliciously wet it is. I'm sure I'll get a lot of pleasure out of my cunt tonight."

"Can I see it?"

"I'll untie your hands for a little while, and you can look all you want while I go downstairs and fetch the cloth-line."

When he returned with the bundle of line Helly was standing in front of the mirror. "Peter ! This is too much. I really can't go to the showers after the gym tomorrow, looking like this."

"Why not? To me it looks a lot better."

"What am I going to tell them, when they start asking questions?"

"Tell them that your husband likes it so much that he wants to have a better look."