A Woman Scorned – Revenge Sex

The woman sat by her window and quietly watched the public telephone box in the rainswept square below.

No-one had passed it for half and hour, and no-single male for almost twice that. Still, she always knew she would have to be patient. She knew that he would come, and when he did she would be ready. If there was something that Marina Stone possessed in abundance it was patience.

The woman two floors above her in apartment five-one-three was going to pay, and pay dearly. Of that there was no doubt. No doubt at all. It had been two years. But what do they say? Revenge is a dish best served cold?

This was the third day of her vigil and she hadn’t hit paydirt yet. But she would sit and she would wait. She had waited long enough after all. She would be nothing to that woman now. That bitch. Nothing. Not even a memory.

She glanced at the clock, ten o’clock and still almost daylight. The British Summer in all its dubious glory. And then she saw him, striding out of the station and crossing the road. She reached across to the disposable mobile she had quite a stock of and rang the number.

She timed it just right, when he was almost-but-not-quite passing the box. With her window open she could hear the ringing from up on the third floor. She watched him carefully, he glances across at the ringing phone and seems to hesitate a second. Then he took another stride. Stopped, turned around, and entered the phone and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello.’

She steadied her voice. She had to get this just right. ‘Adam, darling where are you? I am up here waiting. Gagging for you actually.’

There was a momentary silence when she thought he was going to take the bait. ‘I think you have a wrong number love., this is a call box.’

‘Adam, stop messing about and get your body up here okay?’

‘I wish, love. sorry.’ The line went dead. 

Isobella watched with a sense of disappointment as he exited the box and went on his way, no doubt to some boring mundane existence which no doubt suited him, the wanker.

The next to pass were a group of girls who looked like they were bar-hopping. Five of them all dressed in the regulation micro-short skirts and botox. Tits busting out of t-shirts made for ten year olds. They could barely walk in those heels. In those respects they reminded her of the bitch upstairs. The same bimbo look, shameless, showing all they had to just anyone who cared to look. ‘Sluts’, she said out loud. ‘Sluts’. They would get what’s coming to them. And soon she hoped. Just like number five-one-three, two floors up.

She could feel her hatred rising in her throat. Her hands shook a little. ‘Come on’, she is thinking. ‘Come on.’

The next was a man, a lad of maybe twenty or so. Dark haired and – rather encouragingly – swaying every so slightly. Clearly the worse for wear, but not out and out drunk. This was the one. Her avenger. She could almost smell it.

She watched his every step towards the phone box. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…three… she pressed dial. Two…one… he stopped dead and looked at the phone ringing. Then he looked behind him, and in every direction as if there was anyone else who would answer it. Then having decided it was him, and only him, he opened the door, entered and picked up the phone.

‘Hello darling, its me. Where are you? You should have been here two hours ago.’

The voice when it came was rather rough sounding and thick with alcohol.’

‘It’s a phone box.’

‘A phone box? What are you doing in a phone box darling when I am up here waiting for you? Gagging.’

‘I’m just going home.’

‘Home? Oh….wait…is that really you Adam?’

‘Adam?’ There was a stifled laugh. ‘No, I’m Dean.’

Slowly…slowly she is thinking. Reel him in. ‘Oh dear, I am sorry. So sorry, must have hit the wrong button. Sorry.’

‘It’s alright, no problem.’

‘So which phone box is it?’

‘It’s in the square?’

‘Oh that one, just opposite my flats, wait a minute, I’ll have a look.’ She didn’t move; didn’t need him to see the curtains twitch. ‘Oh yes, my goodness. You are a handsome young man aren’t you?’

The idiotic alcohol fulled giggle again. ‘You have a sexy voice.’

‘Oh do I now?’

‘Yes you do.’ 

She gave what she hoped was a girlish titter.

‘So is Alan your boyfriend then?’

‘It’s Adam, but yes he is and he was coming over tonight to…well….be with me.’

‘Ahhhh, I see now. So he’s not turned up and you were expecting some fun.’

This was better and better, not only half-pissed but a moron as well.

‘I was darling yes. Built I guess I’ll just have to go without now. A shame really.’ She felt home and clear now. Check-check-check-and mate.

‘I – I wouldn’t mind some fun.’

I’ll bet, she thought. ‘Hmm and what sort of fun do you like?’

Giggle. ‘I like sexy fun. With women who have sexy voices.’

Ahh, yes, the subtlety of the English drinking classes. ‘You have a sexy voice too…’ She was about to ask him his name but remembered just in time. ‘Dean.’

She chanced a peep, he was in there staring up at the block.

The laugh was more of a snort. ‘Do I? Do I really?’

‘Oh yes you do Dean. And do you know what sort of fun I like Dean?’

‘No, go on. Tell me.’

‘I like it rough Dean. I like it very, very rough.’

‘Do you, now?’ Was he trying to play it cool? Good God Almighty. ‘I do too.’

‘Hmmm, I knew you were sexy. And I’ll bet you could be rougher than Adam. He sometimes bores me. He is rough, but not rough enough. Do you understand me Dean?’

‘He – he…sounds like he can’t keep up with you.’

She laughed her laugh. ‘You sound like you want to come up here right now. Maybe you want to come on up and fuck the living shit out of me, whether I like it or not. Is that right, Dean?’

‘Yes I do. Yes, I do. Whats your name anyway?’

‘My name? Its Susan. Susan Bolton.’

‘Well Susan, I do want to fuck the shit out of you. And I want you to suck my cock as well.’

‘Of course darling. And If I don’t want to, you’ll just have to make me won’t you, Dean?’

‘I will, I so fucking will.’ She could hear the aggression in him now, the bubbling anger. Hopefully the violence.

She smiled to herself. ‘But do you know what makes a forced blow job even better? It’s if you have force fucked my arse just before.’

She could hear his breathing, heavy and short. ‘I am going to fuck all your holes. Fuck them hard. Maybe do them twice or three times.’

Writing erotic fiction - Isobella Fox

‘Hmmm, sexy boy. So why don’t you come on up then Dean, I live in apartment five-one-three, and the code for the entrance is double six-zero-two’

‘Okay. I will.’ 

‘And remember Dean, I want it very rough, so as soon as I open the door just start on me. You don’t even have to say hello. The more I say no, the more I really want it. Remember that Dean. Even if I fight you just carry on. Do you understand? Is everything clear?

‘As fucking crystal. You are so getting fucked tonight.’

‘Come on up then. I’ll be waiting…’

The phone went dead.

It was, in the end, easier that she had anticipated. She watched him leave the box and walk towards the apartment block. His walk was more purposeful now, she could see the pent-up sex in him. That bitch was going to get what’s coming to her.

Debts owed, debts paid. Five-one-three, whatever her name was, was a disgusting individual not fit to live in such a nice and respectable block among its decent residents. 

She had only met her in the lift the once. When the door had opened the woman was in there alone and squatting down and urinating. Urinating

‘What are you looking at you fucking old cow.’ Her eyes were out on storks, her features contorted in anger. ‘Just fuck off.’ 

The lifts then closed and moved off.

It had taken her months to discover her apartment number. But a question here and there to her friends had found out it was five-one-three. Of course, what she had done was not like her at all. Not at all. Not the tiniest little bit. But she had a duty to protect the block from those who might bring it into disrepute. They all had to protect their investments after all.

There was a ring at the doorbell. It would be Joanne from next door returning that DVD. Bit late though.

She opened the door and was confronted by the sight of the young man from the phone box. His face red and angry looking.

She knew immediately what had happened.

‘I said five-one-three, not three-one-five.

But it was too late, far too late.

He was on her.

The End

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