Read through the hole epub format

Authors: Kendall Newman

through the hole

Through The Hole

Kendall Newman

© 2015 Sensual Ink Publishing

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

Life always had a way of being so dull, so droll and otherwise ‘boring’…almost like life was looking for a way to mock, to poke and prod and just
any reason it could to make things seem so tasteless and…blah…

At the tender age of 29, in a process that repeat itself until the day she died—Marissa Jensen seemed to have everything that most people twice her age were searching for; she had a good job. More importantly, she had a high paying job in which nothing seemed to ever go wrong! She had her own apartment on the Upper East Side, and shit…she had a nice car too. Nothing ‘high performance’ or anything, but an adorable little powder blue car she loved taking with her when she hit the streets and hung out with friends.

To make matters better? The woman was reminded of a movie called
Mean Girls
…falling into the category of ‘hot’ without even trying, with her pouty lips just a few shades darker than her naturally tan skin, and supple but perky breasts over a slender and well-built figure. You know the kind, with all the right curves? Heck, she even thought her size seven feet were adorable too, with the index toe on each a little longer than her big toe. Everything about Marissa’s life seemed like it should have been a girl’s dream come true…she even had long flowing locks of curly auburn hair to match soft brown eyes.

So what was the problem?

She said it again despite that, “Blah…” her convictions as spoken within the confines of her own mind seemingly deplorable as she reflected while seated on her balcony overlooking a small park.

The downside to living within the City…everything has a shadow cast over it.
She reflected as she took notes of the deep shadows of the towering spires of New York dwarfing this small park.

Cup of coffee in hand, and bare feet kicked up on the edge of her outdoor recliner, she looked out onto the rest of the world in a reverence that begot the notion ‘you guys are
lucky’, despite her own obvious success.

The latest of her ‘flings’ was just exiting out of the bedroom as she heard the alarm bell in her bedroom strike six, a slight wince touching her face as she totally forgot about Kyle. “I’m sorry, guess I forgot to shut that off,” she lied with a fake smile, her lips kissing at air as a groggy and mostly naked man lumbered over to her to kiss her lips—which after a quick turn of her head, became her cheek instead.

Kyle didn’t take the hint, and rubbed a hand slightly through his hair as he went to reach for her cup of coffee.

“Uhm…thanks but this is mine,” she said flatly, and gestured with a slight wave back towards the kitchen. “Creamer’s in the fridge, sugar is next to the coffee pot.”

.” Kyle remarked sourly, and turned around to make himself a cup.

Alright, so maybe
was such a strong word, but at twenty nine Marissa imagined she’d be having more than a simple booty call by now—maybe a bit of meaning and purpose in her life with a loving man, as she jumped back and forth between the arms of a whole
of Mr. Wrongs.

Marissa’s mother would argue that she spent way too long playing the field, and now she’s only stuck with the incorrect match, and her friends said she was too picky, or point out that her ‘standards’ always filled in bad people who didn’t quite make the cut.

Take Kyle for instance…

The two of us on the dance floor. I knew what he wanted…I could ‘feel’ it as he rubbed and ground my thighs between his with each dance step. He told me everything I wanted to hear, plus a few things that I don’t think were physically possible. But when he kissed my neck, it felt like butter…and it was only half as good as the feeling when we hit silk bed sheets.

My head was swimming in Long Island Iced Teas and vodka, and it felt wonderful; how he touched my tender breasts, the way his teeth felt against my nipple as he tugged and pulled. His breath reeked of cigarettes and beer, which was nasty, but it didn’t matter…what mattered was the feel, the ‘sensation’ the moment he penetrated me, like a staff piercing straight into my heart.

When she woke up her head was beating twelve beats faster than her heart, and she had the same stink of shame, sweat and beer on her that she could literally smell as the man openly snored aloud just across from her, making her head throb even more.

He wasn’t adorable, not anymore…that child-like charm and hair gel only could go so far as she looked at the sloppy mess he really was, lips agape and drool collecting on her fancy pillows as most of the fabric stuck to the side of his face—
I seriously need to invest in plastic covers for my bed—
and his hair looked like some funkified version of Peppermint Patty’s from Charlie Brown. You know the style…

Well douche it up now! That’s the hair that was stuck to her pillow now, and she couldn’t help shaking that ‘sticky’ feeling she got when she finally got out of bed, prompting the man to roll over and scratch his ass while she trailed off to the bathroom to wipe off several layers of that funk with an industrial scrubber and a razor blade.

“Hey babe, if you’re not doing anything later—”

She caught Kyle’s voice as he finished up, and she swore she heard something tip over, but it didn’t get to her. Most men like Kyle were slobs; epic Gods of sex and love in their own minds, and tended to conform to personalized rules which negated them from niceties like cleaning up after one’s self, or hitting the toilet when taking a piss.

Why do that when I ‘rocked’ her world? She’d be thrilled just to be in the same room as me, let alone clean up my urine!’
her inner voice mocked using NOT his tone, but her own in more condescending fashion.

She even shook her head and frowned comically while impersonating, crooking a single finger under her lip as though she had an ugly mustache to match. She was interrupted when she realized she was ignoring Kyle.

Something about doing stuff later?

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Were you even listening to me?” Kyle cut in rather sourly as he stepped out onto the porch, not even caring to dress in more than a dirty pair of boxers while he still reeked of cigarette smoke.

She smiled again—that fake but polite smile—and admitted, “No, not essentially…” shrugging her shoulders. “I’m sorry but I just don’t have any interest in hanging out.”

“So then that’s it…” Kyle scoffed.

“And if it is? Kyle…the moment you laid eyes on me I was just another booty call. So you can go brag to your friends if you want, but understand that you were just another notch on my belt too…” she cooed softly, and stood to her feet finally as she kissed her finger before placing it against his lips.

He scoffed again, and she found that tone annoying. “Man, you’re just a bitch aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter though cause I have an appointment—so get dressed, I need to clean the funk out of my bedroom.”

“You freaking skank!” he snapped, and set the mug down harshly as he stormed back into the bedroom to gather his pants.

“So what does that make you for sleeping with a skank? I was going to say ‘nothing personal’ but I think we know who the bitch in this booty call is…so…leave, bitch.” She quipped, and gave her most innocent smile as she caught his fading ass in the doorway—
he REALLY does have a nice butt—
as the door slammed shut.

Her chest raised and lowered slowly in a small but deep breath that she took, venturing around her apartment to assess the damage. As she suspected, he not only missed the toilet, but left one of the seats up.
And the kitchen? Spilled milk across the counter and a small pile of sugar where that—too—spilled out. “He must be marriage material” she said aloud.

There was one of his socks in her hamper too, which made her figure that he threw his clothes there at some point, possibly to portray dominance over her.
Yeah, how did that work out for you, slick?

She started the slow process of cleaning—starting with the kitchen—when she got a call from one of her best friends. Jessica…Jessica Decker. The girl was a fucking firecracker to say the least, but she was the one Marissa trusted the most because, like Mar (her nick name), she also slept with men in ‘booty call’ fashion. She understood the premise behind ‘nothing personal’, even though it always seemed as if guys had more ego to scar than girls when finding out they were a one-night stand.

, how you ‘doin?” she quipped with a wry grin, and dropped the scrub brush as she went back to the porch.

Mar spent the remainder of her morning/afternoon regaling her ‘antics’ with her quickly dismissed boy toy in vivid detail. Funny as it may seem, it still only placated to the real underlying issue that was her vastly diminishing romantic life. While Marissa wanted something that was longer than a quick night—or even a quick three months—she still couldn’t break free from the cycle that she had gone down.

It was one thing to talk about true love, but it was another entirely to try and break from old habits, and the only thing Mar had going for her
her old habits, regardless of how hard they died down.

In the end it was all the same…including Jessica’s ‘
This time around will be different, you’ll see. We’ll hit the town again and try out that new place

you know the one…’
  blah-blah-blah. The woman was a broken record, but she was sweet. She was about the closest thing Mar had to a BFF in this life without the ever-present desire to put a bullet in her brain.

Despite popular belief, girl talk could be very…boring. Incredibly boring—with vivid details and imagery created and crafted behind the placated ego that what kind of sandwich one had for lunch while sitting at the Bistro on Fifth Avenue and Liverspot somewhere was remotely related to the rude cabby trying to look up one’s skirt while also contemplating what to do with the latest fling, of which it was ‘speculated’ that so-and-such had a thing with you-know-who, who was also conspiring with life’s-favorite-person in a sordid attempt to—
That was the sound of the bullet going off.

What made it worse was that Mar was no different from the others; she laid out her life like a carefully plotted journal, writing out the affairs of a whole day and somehow fitting it in only twelve measly little pages.

So maybe the only reason Mar was bored was because she had to listen to Jessica talk about
fling the night before when all Mar
wanted to do was bash the ever-loving hell out of her own man.
I’m especially proud of the way I kicked his ass to the curb, thinks he can lie to me when he hasn’t a freaking clue what he did wrong.

Oh it was back to the same night in bed, just last night. An endless, tawdry affair of love-making and drunken sex that Mar learned to take in stride. All of it, every last shred… interrupted at the single moment when that smoke and booze-laced breath groaned out ‘Oh Bev!’ for the whole world plus Apartment C to hear.

…BAM! Magic dead, and it was just meaningless sex all over again.

“Oh I know right?!—you won’t believe this though, while we were at it he had the nerve to call me Bev!” Apparently Mar did get her day in court after all.

Still, Marissa had a rule with this kind of shit: she never took on meaningless—or maybe somewhat meaningful—sex while it was a workweek, and she never went home with someone unless her girlfriends (at least one of them) could hook up with a guy too. It was like the girl version of ‘Bro’s before hoe’s’. Most of the time it was Jessica leading the pack, but it was Mar’s turn in the coin-toss among her small circle, as went their game which had no rules except who was playing designated driver—and since they were in the city, designated driver was more or less associated with the girl caught making sure everyone got in a cab safely.

About the time the conversation was winding down, Marissa took notice of loud shuffling and ‘banging’ noises echoing around her. Mar just reached the highlight of her escapades with Kyle when the noise was starting to hit a distracting point.

“Well it’s not my fault the guy acted like a little bitch,” she cooed like a child being scolded, slightly curled up around the phone.

“Well, it’s not his fault you have such high standards either.”

She huffed, “Jessica, since when did you care about me getting a booty call?”

“Since you decided you want to die alone, and I’m no helping either. But since I’m not the one committed to getting into a serious relationship I at least get to dog your ass until you find a man.” Jessica replied.

Another scoff. “Jesse, don’t make this personal, okay?” She sighed, and switched ears for her phone. “I’m thirty years old, I’m not freaking dead, okay?”

“What, it’s gonna take you sprouting grays before you take me seriously?”

She threw her arms up—well, reasonably so. “I’ll become a hot cougar and date younger guys looking for action.”

Jessica sighed, “I’m not kidding, girl.”

“Neither am I…and who the hell is making so much noise?” Mar barked. “Hey, let me call you back, I need to figure this shit out.”

“Sure, but you
call me back or I’ma kick your ass.”

“Yeah-yeah, put that shit on YouTube and edit us in bikinis and we’ll make a fortune, I’ll call you back!” she snapped, and shut her phone off before tossing it on the nearby table.

Now was as good a time as any to finally dress in more than a simple silk robe, though eventually Mar was going to want to take a shower. So for now she opted to let her hair remain a slight mess—curly and frizzy, dangling freely down her back—as she slipped into a pair of denim shorts that ran up her thighs, and a white lacy blouse that was easy enough to button along the front while ‘covering’ her modestly.

Simple flip flops were the final piece as with a quick glance downward, she decided it was time to pay a visit for a manicure and pedicure package…her nails looked awful…but when she swung the door open of her apartment she almost ran head-first into a piece of furniture being carried by two professional movers into the apartment next door.

“Whoa, easy there jackhole. Other people live here too y’know!” she snapped, and didn’t hear the comeback coming from one of the workers before she was glancing down the other end of the hall.

She didn’t catch anyone else, and ventured further out of her apartment as she waited until the two snobbish movers left the apartment before she poked her head inside…

…and caught sight of possibly one of the most stunning men she ever laid eyes on standing in the middle of the room.

Tall, probably close to six feet…business style suit, short cropped but professionally styled hair. Cologne too, expensive stuff. Feels like it tickles my nose and—OHMYGOD!

She ducked back through the doorway suddenly, feeling very, if not horribly shy. She didn’t know why either, but when she caught those baby blue eyes looking at her, something leapt into her throat and made her duck away.

Mar felt like a child suddenly…fingers curling on the frame of the door as she slowly, carefully ebbed forward, and when she was well within range of poking her head through, she almost squeaked in total surprise when she caught the man standing by the door—his back slightly hunched now as he stood in a crouch to meet her height—and he was looking right back at her with a bit of a smirk.

“Hi there…I’m guessing you’re either one of my neighbors, or just someone stalking newly rented apartment tenants.”

“I—uh…” she haphazardly pointed behind herself, then forward, “I have…ah—y’kn…” but then after a while she just closed her mouth and straightened up.

For a moment there was a lingering, awkward silence looming. It was enough to make her ears ring a little bit…but then Mar regrouped, held her back out straight—pushing her bust forward in the process—and managed to find her voice again. “Just the neighborhood watch, sir. Making sure a violent criminal isn’t moving in next door—I mean, err…three doors…over—” she pointed again, only now her hand was moving of its own volition in a series of directions, “that…way…are you secure with your phone service?!” she snapped, her head shaking slightly as her nose scrunched.
What the fuck are you doing, girl?! Bail! Bail! Bail!
“Let me get you a brochure!” and she stormed off suddenly, leaving the stranger alone as his mouth lay slightly agape, staring at where she stood a moment ago.

“Well…that wasn’t odd…” he whispered, but smiled wryly as he poked his head out to catch her retreating into the apartment next door with a resounding
of her door, the last image caught was one extended leg, and her auburn hair just before the slam.

“What was that?” she snapped, and almost slapped her own self across the face. But soon she was regrouping and calming down with a single, deep breath that had her chest rising and falling most pleasantly. “So, let’s have the sexy guy who moved in next door think we’re a total freaking psycho.”
While you’re at it, why don’t you slash his tires in the process, or maybe pour sugar in his gas tank!
“You’re not helping!” she chided her thoughts, and smacked a curled palm against the side of her head suddenly as if in outrage.


“…And that’s when you turned into Betty ‘
Your local cell phone dealer
’ on the spot, right?” Jessica said with a laugh as she reached over and slapped her friend’s shoulder playfully.

Mar wasn’t amused though…she’d been brooding so much she even wore the same outfit from more than five hours ago, save for a pair of flats that she swapped out in exchange for her sandals.

She forgot to call Jess back as was expected, so instead of calling her, Mar left her a message on her phone to meet up at their usual morning hang-out spot, a small coffee shop that was famous, but not notoriously busy inside. Most of the time people were more focused on the drive-thru than they were on the scenery inside, meaning there was always a table for the two to sit at.

After that it was just a matter of recapping her whole bumbling antics with the hot guy who moved in next door, and Jess didn’t want to be spared a single detail…the broad shoulders, the well-trimmed look and expensive suit despite orchestrating his own move to the point of even helping out.

The man obviously had money, but parts of him didn’t essentially fit the bill: what would a guy looking as expensive as him be doing in this neck of the woods? It wasn’t a cheap neighborhood by far, but when it came to the upscale that sported Armani suits like they were casual…well that kind of cash could get quite a lot more for substantially less than one might imagine.

So yeah, Mar was still brooding…“Don’t remind me,” she groaned, remembering those dazzling eyes as he stared back at her, a mixture of tenderness and warmth behind them that made her insides feel like mush. “I should have just shut the hell up and stumbled about—I would have
stumbling and stuttering at this point—I was a total fucking weirdo in there!”

“Yeah you were!” Jess laughed, and pulled away before her friend could strike her.

“Okay look, just hear me out…” Jess started, and reached out to take her friend’s hands in both her own, “Not all is lost. You’d be surprised how much you can salvage out of this.”

“How?” Mar spat.

“Simple! He caught a part of you that was absolutely goofy. You know how many guys
for a silly girl who looks utterly adorable to them? And your outfit—I take it this was the same thing you wore as before?”

She let out another groan. “I knew I fucking forgot to do something before I left…” she sulked, but nodded slowly in reply.

“Well, there it is! You’re the goofy girl next door now, and
me, that’s going to stand out more than anything else.”

“You’re making it sound like I want to go after this guy.”

Jess laughed, “Honey, the only time you ever freak out
much is when you found a guy on your radar—so yeah, I think…” she was about to finish but was cut off with a hand over her mouth.

“Stop already! He’s just some guy living next door to me, okay? That’s all…I had a passing fling with someone, but that doesn’t mean he’s next on my list to go to bed.”

“Why not?”

The woman was agape, as though the answer should be clear as day. “It’s like…only one of our main cardinal rules of dating: don’t date people in the same building.”


“So…if it doesn’t work out, I’m stuck with a cute ass guy next door that I can’t stand, bugging the shit out of me just because he thinks he can, and all I can do is either take it, or move out…and I’m NOT moving out of my apartment—I just got it all the way I want it.”

The woman opposite shrugged, giving off a quaint little smile of her own. “Sure, say that now. But I’ll bet you twenty bucks that by the end of the week you’ll be lusting after him…in bed with the man before the month is over.”

“Fifty bucks if you have a precise time,” Mar added with a look of confidence, and a cunning smile that was capable of turning heads.

“Okay,” she started, and shook Mar’s hand, “Fifty bucks and two weeks.”



For the next week solid, Mar was capable of keeping a keen eye out. Perhaps part of the bet concerned her on deeper levels, but Marissa felt that now that money was on the table, she should be able to actually become ‘aware’ of the stakes, and avoid them, as no ground rules were really set for this bet…well, none aside from ‘no sex’ until the two weeks were up.

As it happened though Mar was finding herself more and more occupied with work: high paying jobs weren’t always easy, but it did require less-or more-work depending on the week, and this week her firm managed to land another upscale client that had dozens of properties currently in escrow as a means of tax evasion and money collection. Her firm was trying to find legal recourse to signify that the newly acquired client wasn’t ‘responsible’ for the properties on the level of-say-a landlord due to the clever wording of well-crafted leasing agreements.

Where Marissa fit in, it was her job to document and catalog every little bit of paper—every scrap, every shred that the client had—and place them in organized categories in accordance to importance, lack of importance, date and time frames, the works. If she had a fine tooth comb she’d be going through every speck of sand in the Sahara right now. And that was fine for Marissa, because that’s where she thrived. She loved the thrill, the ‘chase’ as she called it in finding organization from utmost chaos, no matter how far and wide she had to go digging.

Plus with the added motivation, this work can keep me busy for a solid two weeks, and then I can double-down on our next drinking binge and make Jessica the DD for the night. Oh, what wonderful torture!
She elated in personal joy.

She took her happiness straight to her doorstep, in her designer pumps and tailored casual but professional charcoal gray suit. Having reached her floor, she slipped out of her heels and was walking in sheer hose to feel the breeze against her slightly warmed feet. She was just inches away from her door when a peculiar noise struck her attention.


For a moment she paused, and spun about on a single heel as she couldn’t pinpoint the noise, but when it failed to return she just shrugged, and spun to jam the key into the door lock—

She jumped at first, barely managing to keep from letting out a strangled cry as it sounded incredibly close. Instead of turning around though, Marissa hurried to unlock the door as she rushed inside and threw the lock in place just before another
sounded out.

Peering out of the peephole provided nothing, except that each time she caught the sound, the more it sounded as though it were coming distinctively from…from…
my bedroom!
She realized, and rushed—her things abandoned at her doorstep—to the kitchen where she picked up a knife and held it in both hands.

“Alright you son of a bitch…I don’t know who you are, but if someone’s in my house…!” she exclaimed aloud, and advanced forward, turning light switches on all along the way. However, there was still nothing in all her searching, no roaming shadow in her wake…nothing but that insufferable thumping!

When Marissa finally reached her bedroom, she was next to ready to stab her pillow…kicking the door open with a fierce rage that was mostly panic-induced as she stumbled forward, holding the knife up and ready with both hands—until she realized she needed at least ONE hand to turn the light switch on—so she fumbled for the switch on the wall.


Nothing…! Seconds passing, and the silence rang in her ear—
well, not all of it silent. But she almost had to give a bit of a laugh, a nervous, shaky laugh. Whatever that noise was, it wasn’t coming from anywhere nearby.

So then—
Mar jumped a bit, but that’s when she noted a peculiar little crack just above her bed.

“I don’t remember—”
“—Damnit! Grr…wait!” she exclaimed, and noted each time the noise sounded out, the crack on her wall was actually growing substantially bigger. “Oh that son of a bitch, what the hell is he doing in his living room at this hour?” she fumed to herself as she finally set the kitchen knife down and climbed up onto the bed.

The crack grew—
—as another section formed, and by the umpteenth
there was a chip shooting out and hitting her in the head.

“OW! What the…” she shouted, catching it by chance in one outstretched hand. That’s when she noted the piece she was holding was a large section of drywall. Looking up again…
Oh my God, I can look right into his apartment!
She suddenly realized, feeling her heart skip a beat.

Lo and behold…whatever was happening had caused a decent sized hole—roughly the size of a golf ball—with light seeping through from the other end. She might not have noticed personally except…
Except I got hit with a piece of the evidence I need to have this asshole kicked out of this place!
Easy to forget…wait…What. Have. We. Here?

For a fleeting moment, a modicum of self-control, Marissa was capable of stopping her rants and raves just long enough to realize what she had here…and suddenly long from her mind were the thoughts of her bet, of damage to her wall…
, of anything even remotely related to the possibility of what she had before her—
I literally have a first-hand look at Mr. Sexy man…seriously, do I wanna pass that up?

For a moment Mar just stood there in slight disbelief…but then rational thinking took place; like the cost of repairs, the fact that she
in all fact, report this, the idea of outrage she originally felt. The list went on.

But the lump in her throat…the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the idea…the
that she could possibly catch the man at something,
, well…

“Look this is just crazy…I’ll hang up a picture and—”

That’s the straw that broke the camel’s back though…finding another piece chipping away as she reached up and began tugging at the smaller pieces, leaving a crumpled pile of white dust atop her bedframe and most of her pillows.

“Fuck it!” she exclaimed to nobody but herself, and finally gave into her inclinations as the woman carefully chipped away the pieces until the ‘perfect hole’ was finally formed. The cracks weren’t an issue around it; she could paint over them without anyone ever noticing, and still hang a picture up during the day.
I needed to add color to my bedroom anyway.

So as she finished dusting the pieces away, the woman finally peered through the looking glass…and what she saw not only made her nipples perk, but it caused her to gasp as she was suddenly swept away in a torrent of mixed feelings that often only came when she was drunk.

Oh, she remembered that man so clearly…but his naked body, she could only put bits and pieces together from her naughty imagination, and nothing compared to him standing in full, naked glory—a ball gag in his mouth and a leather contraption over his chest, and yet he was allowed to move freely.

At first she suspected the man (Let’s call him Mr. X), was the slave in this bondage scheme—and given the changing décor: the soft neon lights, the harsh contrast between light and dark motif, he was a fan of old fashioned wood instead of the steel you usually saw in most of these ‘scenes’…a modern age medieval dungeon chock full of hanging whips and sexual devices, all of which looked ‘custom made’.

Mr. X looked originally as though he were the man acting as the slave, his body completely nude, save for the items described. But why have his own ball gag in place if he seemed to be acting the part of dungeon master?

…But he wasn’t…she caught sight of something black and fast-moving in her vision, just as a riding crop struck out against

in all unlikely places

his groin. It is only then that she realized he stood fully erect now in his steadfast posture.

No, he wasn’t standing…God, how could she not see it before? She was so enraptured with the strong colors and his naked body she didn’t note the two black strips over his wrists, and along his ankles. He was strapped vertically to a table! And he groaned aloud each time as that riding crop struck him down below, his head whipping from side to side in a frenzy as she began, this unspoken woman who Mar couldn’t quite see.

Something was blocking her full vision.

This isn’t right. You shouldn’t be—
“Oh shut up!” she snapped, and then slapped her hands over her mouth as she quickly glanced through the hole again. It wouldn’t appear that anyone heard her speak, though there was a moment of stillness that followed before the panting and groaning began in earnest.

That still doesn’t explain what I was hearing earlier, or why there are cracks in my drywall.

It might have been something from earlier…at this point Mar realized that she was too enthralled in what was going on to care as she waited for a handful of heartbeats before trying to remove the obstruction which seemed to be blocking more than half of the hole.

She stuck her finger in—
another strike, another soft WHUMP as she could hear Mr. X scream again—
and reached forward as far as she could, but couldn’t quite reach it…everything else in the hole seemed smoothed out, almost as if something used to go in the grooved indent but was long since removed.
Perhaps a carpenter made the mark when first building this place.
Not unheard of, but it would explain why the hole formed so perfectly—there was no additional support in the spot, so either something was here and rattled about with enough force to crack the wall open, or else the structural integrity just was too much.

Still, she was unable to stick her fingers in further, and the hole on the other side was still substantially covered, keeping her from a ‘full’ view of everything going on. She still couldn’t make out the other woman in the equation.

Mar climbed down off the bed in a sudden haste, realizing all too impartially that what she was ‘planning’ on doing was bordering not only breaking her own deal and being out fifty bucks, but also in invading a man’s privacy in his own home.
And I don’t fucking care, not a single bit. If he didn’t want people watching him he shouldn’t be doing that right across the way from me, and he shouldn’t be making holes in my apartment!
She justified as she dashed into the kitchen and began scattering and sorting through all sorts of cookery and kitchen utensils about.

Eventually Mar came across one piece that she was SO happy she kept around—a metal skewer with eye hole at the tip. She had it around last time her folks were visiting from out of town, and they opted for a traditional turkey dinner one month early since Marissa wouldn’t be able to make it out to see them on actual Thanksgiving week.

It was sharply pointed, but it was sturdy and long enough she felt that it would be perfect in suiting her goals.

“Right…so let’s get to it.”

She dashed back into the bedroom just as another dull
sounded out, and climbed back onto the bed as she was sure to shut off her bedroom light this time—
no need alerting the authorities next door to my activities—
as she peered slowly, carefully through the hole. The man was no longer strapped in, he seemed to be removing the ball gag from his mouth, however, his raging hard-on was still ever present.

God…just to feel that inside of—
she kept herself on task though, and carefully began reaching through the hole with the turkey skewer, gripping the pointed end so that she could use the eye hole to effectively lasso the missing piece and drag it inward.

It took some time to find how far she needed to go though, and in fact had to use two fingers holding delicately to the tip to actually reach out before she
anything grazing even the barest tip.

Just a little more…oh come on just break off already—Snap!—Oh darn…
She broke off a chunk as she attempted to get the eyepiece around the side of the crack, but only succeeded in taking the same chunk off and breaking it
instead of inward.

For a moment Marissa was stuck poised, like a deer caught in oncoming headlights, and she was just waiting for the ample moment when the vehicle struck head-on.

She almost forgot she was still holding the turkey skewer, and quickly retracted it as her head shot back and forth between the hole, and her living room. The concern was that if they heard that they might be able to see Marissa through the hole if there were a light on in the hall.

She almost fumbled to place her hand over the hole in a temporary fix to her problem, but it was too late…poised and steadfast, her heart absolutely skipped a beat when she caught that gorgeous baby blue eye staring right back at her for what felt like an eternity, able to see every little contour of that glowing iris from the small distance due to the odd lighting scheme playing out.

Marissa was frozen…
What do I do? I’m so fucking busted right now…! But he was the one that made the hole in the first place. Okay Mar, if they ask we just say ‘he broke the wall’ and we were just examining the damage when we caught sight of what was going—FUCK! He’s still looking!

Finally Marissa couldn’t take it anymore and she ducked down low, her hands planted against the wall as she didn’t even bother to try and sweep away the dust on her pillow before getting it all over her.

Is he gone? How the fuck should I know?!
Slowly, carefully, as though every fiber of her being could cause a single bit of noise and wake the sleeping bear…the woman was very gradual to rise back up to her feet, and when she reached the hole again she noted he was long gone. Well, not
gone, but he was no longer staring through the hole anymore.

Maybe he didn’t see me…
she mused quietly, her brow slightly furrowed.

Without thinking, she leapt from the bed with haste, trying to keep her bare feet from stomping too loud and realizing to only slight dismay that her business attire was slightly ruined along the skirt and sheer hose she wore. She practically tore those items from her body, as well as her simple but sleek business top as the air seemed to grow substantially more ‘stuffy’ inside.

The rush left a trail of clothing scattered from one end of the hall to the other, giving her a chance to slap the lights off in the hall as soon she was diving back onto her slightly dusty bed in nothing more than a bra and her white matching panties. Not the most dignified, but given the flush she felt to her cheeks, the soft breeze wafting through and striking her naked form was more than just an ‘absent’ comfort.

God, why am I getting worked up over just one guy?
Because he’s fucking hotter than sin, and apparently kinkier than any guy I’ve ever been with before.
The very idea had her curling her bare toes until they were gripping at the covers of her bed, her whole body in a slight tingle. Whether she was imagining herself as the one strapped to that table, or him, she still wasn’t sure…never really had a chance to explore
kind of life. Oh sure she saw movies, and even read the occasional erotic story…but who really
that kind of stuff? She still couldn’t wrap her brain around the idea of some underground world of fetish based sex, and yet here she was; standing almost two items shy of her full birthday suit, staring through a hole in her wall at a man who was naked save for leather straps and a ball gag, possibly ready to fondle her own self
the fact that she probably got caught.

“Oh…come on dude! You didn’t see anything, nothing at all just…PLEASE!” slapping her hands over her mouth as she realized she needed to shut the fuck up, lest she sell herself out any more than she had already.

When nothing happened Mar could actually feel a dull ache coming from down south. It was a strange feeling, mainly because she never actually
anything until she was on her tenth drink and some guy was trying to demonstrate his ineffectiveness at feeling her up. But now, standing here, like this, Marissa actually had a longing building up inside, up to the point that she couldn’t control a soft groan, a whimper maybe, that passed her lips when staring now at the wider hole, she still failed to see anything even remotely related to a good time…a show, maybe another crop whip popping out and giving a final lash at the man across his genitalia.

Just about to give up in a slight whimper—her hands unknowingly reaching down between her thighs, rubbing softly but firmly along such familiar regions—she stopped dead. Paused…her nipples suddenly erect beneath her bra and feeling a sensitivity that caused her body to softly twitch at the slightest bit of movement.

He came back. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her at first, but it was apparent that whatever happened before, whomever was ‘looking’ back at Marissa seemed almost entirely unfazed by it, and in fact it seemed to cause a new, unbridled fire as the man was thrown firmly against the stocks, his ankles and wrists once again finding those familiar straps wrapping about them.

Something new emerged though… new and unexpected. His attire changed, and he had something fitted—similar in design to the leather straps wrapped about him before—around his lower half. She couldn’t quite make it out at first, but when the table he was strapped to went from vertical to horizontal, and Marissa positively gasped…fingertips finding their way under the hem of her white cotton panties and feeling along her naked crest…as she caught the apparatus now in full strength. The design seemed almost ‘sinister’ in nature, like a creature swallowing his penis whole. There were cords attached to it now, and she couldn’t tell if he was still erect, the way the device stood straight out and angled just slightly, possibly to cater to the length of his own shaft.

She still wasn’t sure what it did in full, but those two wires running the length to an unknown outlet or device somewhere had her imagining it was probably electrical. Maybe he enjoyed shock treatment? Not likely—the device was obviously on as the man was writhing in his bondage; shaking and shuddering, groaning insufferably into his gag as the agony he felt was obviously a mixture of arousal and possibly even pain.

And then came his would-be temptress…finally she caught sight of the woman, this blond haired dominatrix dressed in all leather from head to toe in what looked like a full bodied latex outfit. She slapped him over the device on his groin once, hard, and even Marissa snapped slightly with a shudder as she caught the man’s groan lacing out. Oh he was in agony…no chance at screaming, pleading for any kind of relief. And then she slapped again, only this time the crop went higher and touched over one nipple.

Multiple smacks, all with a deadly precision that hit their mark, and Marissa was suddenly delving her fingers deep inside that crest. She was beyond fondling now…that she knew. Something about the whole scene unfolding seemed to be exciting the fires of passion deep down, and Marissa was becoming drunk with the same fitting arousal that her bound friend there probably, obviously felt.

“Oh my God…” she whispered quietly as her own fantasy came to an end, realizing where she was again, and what she was doing.
I’m practically dripping…
She groaned out loud, her fingertips still pressed inside from one hand, while the other diligently held to the wall for support. It almost felt shameful—disgraceful! She stopped at once, looking between her panties and her hand, her unfinished business having been ‘left alone’ intentionally, making for quite the epic battle to be played between her senses, and her waning libido.

Does this technically count as a forfeit to our wager?
Marissa thought to herself, her friend Jessica who could smell sex a mile away, even longer. Didn’t matter if it was one-handed or with a dance partner, somehow Jessica always knew…