The guys that the hauling company had sent to help move my stuff had finally left the house. All my junk, untidily packed in stacked boxes along the walls, made the guest house seem a lot smaller than when it was bare, when the landlord had shown me around. But I was okay with that. I finally had my own place. Far away from my crazy former life. It might have been on the opposite side of the country, but it was also the quieter side. The side where no one knew who I was. It was a long day of moving and I was glad it was finally over.

I had just cracked open a six-pack of ice cold beers and slung back into the single seater in the lounge before I heard a knock at the door. I sighed before getting up. It was the landlord, Gregory Bush. He was a big guy with an athletic build, mixed race but fair skinned. Broad shouldered and a couple inches taller than me, he carried his size like he knew he was a big guy. A real confident fucker. He was handsome too, and he knew it. He had soft chiseled features and on it was a broad and ever present smile. His thick curly hair that framed his gentle face was cropped short and neat. At least his appearance came across as more subtle rather than his smug attitude. I could live with that.

“Greg.” I greeted.

“Jack. I just wanted go over the ground rules with you.” He continued before I could acknowledge him. “I don’t mind you paying the rent late, so long as it gets paid. Understand?” I nodded my head. “Good. Now, me and the old lady like discretion. We like to stick to our own business. You can come and go as you please. We don’t mind at all. We don’t have any problem with that. But we expect you to respect our boundaries. Cool?”

“Cool,” I replied. I didn’t quiet understand what he meant but it’s what I wanted too. I could respect that. And I could respect him too. He seemed simple enough. Uncomplicated and to the point. “Is that it?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he nodded. “But I’m sure I can think of a few more rules down the line,” he grinned. “We’ll see how things pan out. Okay?” He held out his hand.

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” We smiled and he shook my hand with a firm handshake before he walked away.

He turned suddenly. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Me and the old lady are – let’s say – quite liberal. I hope you are too.”

“I think I can be.” I smiled, but with uncertainty. Again not sure what he meant by that.

“Good! Because this won’t work if you’re not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, we’ll see how it pans out. Then you can tell me.” He smiled again, a bigger grin this time, then headed down the deck to the main house.

I sat back into the single seater thinking about the odd meeting and what he might have meant. I took a big swig from my bottle and shook the thought from my mind. I had my beer, I had a new place, far away from the hectic life I used to live, and I was going to enjoy it. It was finally over.

*

It was late evening when I woke to a muted cry. The empty six-pack holder lay in my lap. I didn’t remember drifting off to sleep in the camper chair. I heard the cry again. At first I had thought it was a dog, but the cries came more suddenly. They were shorter, and sounded more human.

I stood up, still a little groggy from the sleep – more likely the beers – then proceeded to the kitchen. What I saw there shocked me sober.

Through my kitchen window, across the adjoining deck and pool, and into the living room of the main house were my landlords, Gregory and Alicia, husband and wife, completely nude, going at it like dogs on heat.

I had never seen his wife before – not in person at least. The picture frame of the landlords, that hung in the bedroom, portrayed a couple very much in love. I studied that portrait thoroughly. She was a striking lady. Mixed race, with probably a lot of Columbian, or Porto Rican in her. Creamy skin with exotic features – high cheek bones and long straight black hair, big bold brown eyes and a generous smile that stretched across her face. But now, through their great big sliding glass doors, I had a clear view of everything. That lady in the portrait was no lady as she screamed with every thrust. She was a fucking fox. And I was glad to bare witness to the scene before me.

Greg had his wife propped on her tight stomach and bent over the arm of the lounge suite, his massive frame thrusting hard into her body. He was rough on her and she yelped with every jolt, a pained expression painted across her stunning face, as she bit into her clenched fist. I imagined though that she was enjoying it. She held no protest against him as he rammed into her with authority.

Her body was fit, supple and firm, much like her husband’s. He was probably a body builder with his bulky, but toned, massive frame. Whereas she most likely focused on her physique. She was lithe, dexterous, and athletic with shapely curves, meaty tits and a nice full ass on her. A fair skinned goddess. Her firm body jiggled with every thrust and I felt myself hardening in my pants. She was fucking perfect, I thought, as I slipped a hand down my jeans, my fingers caressing the veiny shaft of my cock. I gripped down hard and held it tight, letting the blood build up before it flushed towards the head.

Suddenly he stopped. She looked back at him as he pulled out. Then, without warning, he rammed his dick into her again. She shrieked her lungs out, tears streamed down her eyes. Judging from her grimace, he had probably fucked her up her ass. But her pain didn’t phase him. It most likely drove him on. He thrust hard again, another shriek rang out from her. She tried to shift her position, standing up on her hands, arching her back as he rammed in again. Her facial features strained, cringing as if she was dead lifting at gym. The veins of her arms popping out as they flexed, her fingers digging into the cushion. He thrust into her again.

He grabbed the back of her neck and pushed her down, then began to fuck her furiously from behind. She began to stop fighting it. I watched her eyes roll back as she rode the wave of an orgasm as he ravaged her asshole. When her eyes rolled back, they snapped onto me.

I just stood there, with my hands down my pants, and watched as my landlord rocked against his wife while she looked at me. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, riding another orgasm. She made no mention of me to him. So I began to stroke myself while I watched them.

But as I got going, the landlord had climaxed – his body shivered with extasy as he came inside her. He pulled out and smacked her ass hard. Her eyes flew open with the sudden sharp sting. He said something to her then had walked off, out of view. But she lay there, bent over the arm, her eyes still locked on me. They pierced through me as if she was searching for my soul in them. It felt as if she had seen it.

I suddenly became aware of myself and stepped out of view, hiding behind the wall. Was this what he meant earlier, I thought to myself. By being liberal? And what did he mean when he said he hoped I was too?

My mind was racked, but I couldn’t focus. All I could think of was Mrs Bush and her incredible form being ravaged like a lion on a piece of meat as my landlord fucked her hard. I turned to look out the window again. Her incredible body was still laying there. Her eyes were on me but there was no expression on her face. She was stepping off the throngs of her climax, her face exhausted. I swung back.

I walked away and into the bedroom. I pulled down the frame that hung there, unbuckled my pants and began to jerk off at the image, her naked body fresh in my mind, her sweaty creamy skin glistening as her husband fucked her furiously. I was shaking with excitement so I tossed the frame onto the bed and stood above it. I came within seconds. Ropes of cum plastered all over the glass of the frame. Some landing on the image of Mrs Bush, some on Mr Bush, most on the bed.

When I was done, I toppled over beside the frame. I looked over at my handy work, wondering who leaves a portrait of themselves in the guest’s bedroom. Then I drifted off to sleep.