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Neighbourly Relations

By: prophet007



I'd been living in Grange Court for about six months before I ever exchanged so much as two words with Jane Stickson. I knew who she was and I knew her name only because I happened once to take delivery of a parcel the postman was trying to deliver to her when she was out. When she got home and read the note the postman had put through her letterbox saying which neighbour he had left it with and came to get it, that was the first time I spoke to her.

I'd noticed her around, of course. And yes, I'd cast my eye over her – she was a very attractive woman. About ten or twelve years older than I was, in her late thirties by the look of her, she was still very beautiful – delightfully curvy, buxom but not in a disgustingly top-heavy way like those mutant women who have breast enlargements, and with a couple of long, shapely legs she occasionally showed off in short skirts when the weather was warm. Her hair was very dark brown, looking black in some lights, and hung soft and silky and loose just down to her shoulders. So yes, I definitely fancied her, I suppose, and was surprised there was no husband or lover present – indeed, she only ever seemed to come and go from her flat for work, and otherwise seemed to lead quite a lonely existence, pent up in there on her own during the evenings. Still, each to their own, and it was nothing to do with me, after all.

That all changed one Saturday, two weeks or so after we'd had our first proper conversation over that parcel.

The knock at my door that afternoon was quite unexpected – I was having a quiet weekend in, watching a DVD at the time, and I wasn't expecting any visitors. I paused the disc and went to the door, being quite surprised when I opened it to find Jane Stickson there. She was wearing a red top and black trousers made of a smooth, thin material than accentuated the curves of her legs. She smiled at me, a little nervously, her green eyes looking at me with a sort of quiet intensity.

"Hello, I'm so sorry to bother you," she began apologetically. "It's just... Well, I couldn't help noticing when I was here the other day that you had lots of computer books and things on your bookshelf."

She indicated the shelf behind me, which did indeed hold all of my computer manuals and so forth. I didn't work with computers, but I was a bit of an enthusiast in my spare time and sometimes earned a little extra money doing freelance website building, albeit only on a small scale.

"Yes, yes I suppose so," I admitted, feeling well-disposed towards her – after all, it's not often one has an attractive woman on one's doorstep. I guessed already that she probably needed help with her own computer, and so it proved.

"My PC keeps crashing," she explained. "And I'm afraid I'm next to hopeless when it comes to these things, and I was wondering..."

"Of course I'll come and have a look at it," I replied helpfully, grabbing my keys off the table just inside the room. "No problem."

"Oh you don't have to come right now, if you're busy..."

"I'm not busy," I assured her, locking the door behind me as I came out. "Just lazing around really."

"It's terribly kind of you," she thanked me as I followed her downstairs into her flat.

The computer, it turned out, was in the bedroom, and I admit the prospect of being in there was not an unenticing one. I wondered whether to make a joke about 'any excuse to get me in the bedroom' or something along those lines, but I reasoned that I would in all likelihood only end up with a slap, so thought better of it. It was a reasonably large room, with the bed in the centre, the desk with the computer to one side, a wardrobe to the other with a small window next to it, and a dressing table with drawers built into it underneath against the wall opposite the end of the bed. Above the table, fixed to the wall, was a large mirror.

It was distracting, in the most pleasant of ways, having her sit down in the chair next to me as I got to work on the computer's problem – I wondered why she had two chairs there anyway. Perhaps she'd brought one through from the main room in anticipation of my agreeing to help her. Either way, I certainly enjoyed having her sitting so close, barely inches away from me – I admit it had been a little while since I'd last had any intimate female company, and I was a little frustrated. I kept wondering whether I ought to say something, crack a joke, try and find something in common, maybe even just get straight to it and ask if she wanted to go out somewhere for a drink or something. After all, she seemed to like me, and she'd invited me into her flat so she must trust me, but... No, as usual, I lacked the confidence. I couldn't do it. So I just sat there, and got to work fixing the problem.

It was pretty simple in the end – I've wondered since whether she simply set the whole thing up as an excuse to get me in there, but I don't think so. I think it was just spontaneous, the way the afternoon unfolded from thereon in. She'd installed a new screensaver she'd downloaded which was crashing her processor for some reason – it was a bit of a rickety old machine. I sorted it out pretty quickly, for which she was of course very grateful.

"You're so clever," she enthused, sounding more like a schoolgirl than a woman in her late thirties.

"It was nothing, honestly," I assured her. "Do you want this left on, or shut down?"

"Oh you may as well shut it down for now."

"Okay."

I don't know why I let the mouse drift onto the 'My Recent Documents' list, displaying the files she'd most recently been using on the computer. It was a bit cheeky of me really, delving into her privacy like that, especially with her sitting there right next to me, but she made no attempt to say anything or intercede as the list appeared. She merely drew in her breath sharply, nervously, as the filenames came up, and just as I was about to apologise and explain it away as an accident, I saw the list of names – 'spank1.jpg', 'hogtiedbitch.jpg', 'handcuffed2.jpg'. And so it went on.

For a moment neither of us moved, or said or did anything. Then I turned to look at her, and she glanced at me expectantly. Still we were both silent, then I looked back at the screen and clicked on the first of the files. It showed a young woman, naked, bent over the knees of a man who could only be seen from the chest down, being spanked. Her face was a mask of pleasure mixed with pain, a silent cry or perhaps a moan of ecstasy. I clicked for the next picture, and it was a similar image, this time a naked girl cuffed with her hands behind her back.

I looked across again at Jane, and knew that if ever anything was going to happen between the two of us, it was going to be now. Come on Ian, pull yourself together. Are you going to take advantage of this, or chicken out, mumble some embarrassed apology and leave?

My heart was thumping and I felt almost sick with the tension, but seeing her sitting there, hands in her lap nervously clasped together, biting her lip in an anxious but gorgeously sexy way, I couldn't resist. You only live once, after all. She obviously liked this stuff, and it certainly turned me on, seeing the images there, knowing she'd downloaded them for her own pleasure. Go for it.

"Someone's been a very, very naughty girl," I said, with as much authority as I could, trying to keep the wavering nerves out of my voice, holding myself steady. Whether I could get away with calling a woman over a decade my senior a 'girl' I didn't know, but it was all part of the game. She was either going to respond and this was going to become one of the most electric afternoons of my life, or throw me out of her flat and leave me with some very embarrassing neighbourly relations.

"Yes," she said quietly, looking down into her lap and then nodding slightly.

Blimey. This was it then.

"And we all know what happens to bad girls, don't we?"

She looked up and nodded more firmly, a mixture of hope and apprehension in her eyes.

"They get punished?" she asked.

"They get punished," I confirmed, getting more into it now, energised by her obvious desire to join in the fantasy. I stood up and moved across the room to her bed, sitting down on the edge and moving back a little on it, my legs out in front of me. I patted my thigh firmly.

"Come on!" I instructed. "Across my knees young lady."

She stood, walking slowly across, not a word of protest. Smiling for the briefest of moments, she got onto the bed and stretched herself out across my knees, her beautiful backside clad in tightly-fitting black trousers stretched wonderfully across it. The material was thin but there was no panty line... Was she wearing a thong? Or no knickers at all? The prospect of seeing was enticing, but I kept my mind on the job in hand, wondering if she could feel how hard I was for her under my jeans. God, having her warm, soft body stretched across me like that was bloody wonderful.

"Now I don't want any fuss out of you," I told her sternly. "Just lay still and take your punishment like a good girl."

"I'll try," she replied, shifting slightly once more, her backside moving on my knees. I looked at it, took a deep breath, and raised my hand up high. I'd never done this before – there's a first time for everything, I suppose.

Smack!

My palm connected with her backside with a delightful sharp slap of flesh, and she gave a little cross between a whelp and a whimper as the sensation hit her. My palm stung slightly, so I hoped her backside felt the same. She wriggled a little, and I placed my other hand on the small of her back.

"Hold still," I commanded, and she did so. I raised my hand up again and brought it down, this time on the other cheek, and this time the sound she gave out was more of a moan, a delightfully breathy little 'oh!' of pained pleasure. My cock was practically bursting through my jeans, and with the skin of her abdomen covered only by her thin top, I knew without a doubt that she could feel how hard I was there, so close to her skin.

I kept her waiting for a moment, running my fingers across the smooth material of the trousers covering her backside, caressing her with my palm. She sighed gently, and I felt for the slip of material that would give away a thong underneath, but there was nothing.

"You're not wearing any knickers, are you?" I asked, trying not to sound too obviously turned-on by the idea, even though she doubtless knew how aroused I was.

"No," she confessed quietly. "I'm afraid I'm not."

Smack!

"Bad girl!"

She hadn't been expecting that one, and yelped. 

"I... I'm sorry," she breathed.

"Sorry for what?" 

Smack! 

"Sorry for downloading filthy, kinky photographs from the Internet? Sorry for being a little whore who goes around not wearing any panties? Or..."

I leaned in close, moving my other hand to stroke her hair gently as I whispered:

"...sorry for being such a hopeless spank-slut who can't get enough of having her pretty little bottom smacked?"

Smack! Smack!

Two in quick succession, one on each cheek.

"Oh God...!" writhing and grinding her crotch against my thighs.

"Well?"

"All of that," she confessed, her voice still a husky, erotic whisper. 

Smack!

"And more?"

She nodded, a gesture I could see only by the movement of her hair, down and up.

Snack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Ooooooo........"

This time she did sound pained from the quick foursome, but the cry turned into a pleasured moan once more.

"Tell me."

She tried to take a breath, compose herself.

Smack!

"I said tell me, spank-slut."

The name seemed to excite her, revelling in the degradation the tag carried. She moaned once more, and it took another sharp spank to get an answer out of her.

"B... Books," she spluttered.

"Books?"

"In the bottom drawer, under the dresser..."

"Show me."

Slowly, she stood up. Her face was as red as I guessed and hoped her backside was, but there was a real excitement in her eyes, her flushed cheeks showing just how much she was enjoying this. She walked to the drawer, kneeling and opening it. Underneath various underwear – some lovely-looking knickers I instantly knew I would love to see her in at some point amongst them – were several erotic novels.

"Bring them here," I instructed. She bought the six books across to the bed and laid them in front of me, standing back nervously as I examined them. They were all much the same – paperback tales of women taken and tied up, spanked, degraded, used as sex slaves...

"You dirty little pervert," I told her with dark relish. She bowed her head.

"There's more isn't there?" I asked.

"Yes."

This time the confession came with almost a kind of quiet enthusiasm.

"Well?"

"Sometimes... sometimes I like to spank myself."

"Spank yourself?"

"With my hairbrush... I've never had anybody to spank me before. I know I deserve it."

"Nonsense," I sneered. "You do it because you love it, spank-slut. Show me."

She moved once more back to the dressing table and picked up the hairbrush, holding it out to show me. It was a good size, purple plastic backing with hard black bristles. 

"I said show me!" I told her.

"I... I don't understand?"

I fixed her with what I hoped was a suitably menacing look.

"Use it."

She looked surprised, then excited, moving a step forward and holding the brush behind her. Pausing a moment to fix me with a look of something close to pride, pleased to show that she could take it, brought it down hard with a resounding smack against her own backside, gasping slightly as she did so.

"Again," I demanded. "Harder."

She did as I commanded.

"Keep doing it."

Harder and harder she brought the brush down again and again, smacking it against her flesh, the redness of excitement returning to her face.

"Faster!"

Without protest she did so, making sure she switched between her two cheeks as she continued to punish herself, moans of pleasure returning once more to her lips as she breathed ever more deeply.

"Wait. Stop."

I stood, and walked over to her. Taking the brush from her hand, I ran my palm once more smoothly across her backside, feeling its radiant warmth from the many blows that had rained down upon it.

"Turn around," I told her. She obeyed, as always – we could see each others' reflections in the mirror above the dressing table, her face still flushed with excitement, mine as far as possible fixed with its commanding, determined look. I was beginning to get used to my role, and to relish it. I suspected that she had longed to be in hers for some time.

"Bend over."

She moved forward, stretching over the table, not caring that she was knocking aside the various moisturisers, lipsticks and other bits and pieces covering it. She was pressed down against it, arms outstretched and hooked over the end of the table that was not quite pressed against the wall, her backside now a wonderfully tempting target.

"You're going to count out each stroke," I explained. "I will spank you twenty times. If you make any other noise, or lose count, then we'll go right back to the beginning. Understand?"

"Yes," she affirmed, sounding almost as if she couldn't wait. She didn't know what I had planned, however – I turned around the brush so that I would be striking her not with the flat plastic back of the implement, but with the hard, stubby bristles. I smiled devilishly as I raised it to deliver the first blow. I was definitely enjoying this now.

Smack!

She whelped, all thoughts of games and counting forgotten as she reacted with shock to the very genuine stinging pain of the blow.

"Wrong!" I told her, gleefully. "Start again, from the beginning."

Smack!

There was a pause as she desperately suppressed another cry, before in a quiet voice on the verge of tears came out with:

"O... One...?"

"Too slow," I told her. "One more try, and if you don't get it right this time we'll make it thirty altogether."

"Please, I..."

Smack!

"One!" she cried.

"Good girl. Now, remember, don't lose count..."

Smack

"Two!"

Smack! Smack!

"Three!"

"That was two, can't you count? Should have been 'three four'... You have to be quick. Back we go, and now it is thirty."

She said nothing this time, merely readied herself for the next onslaught. I was almost impressed.

Smack!

"One..."

Smack!

"Two..."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Three, four, five..."

This time she managed it – some struggles along the way and more and more pained the more blows rained down on her poor, tortured little backside, but eventually she cried out with evident relief:

"Thirty!"

I stopped, replaced the brush on the table, but didn't tell her she could stand. She waited, breathing deeply, head resting on the surface. Once more my hand returned to her arse, smoothing across it, stroking it, feeling it... Then I delivered one final short, sharp smack with my palm, causing her to squeal in surprise, before I stood back again.

"You can stand," I told her.

She stood, slowly, a little unsteady on her feet. Her face in the mirror in front of me looked proud and defiant, although it betrayed both the flush of excitement and the tracks of the tears she had shed during her punishment. I moved closer, right up behind her, and gently rested my head on her shoulder, looking into her eyes in the mirror as I slipped my hands around her and placed them together around her stomach, still heaving gently as she took composed breaths. The hardness of my cock under my jeans now pressed against her backside.

"How do you feel?" I whispered delicately into her ear.

"Wonderful," she whispered back, looking at me intently in the mirror. "And terrible."

"Good." I unclasped my hands and slipped one of them down between her legs, pressing gently against the softness there covered by the thin material of her trousers... "But there's more isn't there?"

She looked confused for a moment.

"More?"

I pressed a little harder, rubbing more firmly up and down, up and down between her legs. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes.

"No. Eyes open."

Reluctantly she obeyed, re-opening her eyes and moaning again as I continued to massage her gently between her thighs.

"You have toys," I whispered menacingly into her ear. "At least one vibrator I'd wager, you dirty little slut. You haven't had a man here in the entire time I've been living upstairs, but you can't get enough of it. You're always playing with yourself every night, aren't you?" A harder push. "Aren't you?"

"Oh God..." she gasped. Then, "Yes... Yes, I am."

"I knew it... Dirty, dirty little slut, playing with yourself, stuffing the biggest vibrator you could find up yourself as you lay back on that bed, eyes closed, thinking about all those photos you've downloaded onto your computer... Or perhaps you spread your legs right there in front of the computer, looking at those photos, wishing you were the girl being tied, you the one being spanked... Am I right?"

It was a guess of course. An educated guess by now, but I was far too carried away with the game and my role in it to bother about how accurate it might be, and I think she felt the same. She would have agreed to whatever I said by that stage, although I got the feeling I was probably pretty near the mark anyway.

"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, yes you're right."

"I knew it. Moaning and writhing away, making yourself wet, fucking yourself..."

"Oh God yes!"

I could feel her wetness now, soaking through the thin material of her clothing, and I knew that if I carried on like this she'd cum quite soon. I could feel her grinding herself onto my hand as I stroked her. It was hugely erotic, but there was no way I was going to allow her the pleasure of full satisfaction. I stopped, removing my hand and stepping back, leaving her gasping in disappointment and surprise as she clutched the edge of the table to stop herself from collapsing with the sudden shock of having her pleasure taken away.


Neighbourly Relations Ch. 02



I don't think, in my heart of hearts, that I honestly expected her to turn up the next morning. I had difficulty believing when I woke up that the whole thing hadn't been a dream, despite having thought and fantasised about it, gone over it again and again in my mind, as soon as I had returned to my own flat that afternoon. No attempt to distract myself had worked, and I had to stop myself from marching back down there and telling her how much I wanted to fuck her, right there and then. I wondered whether she would have been receptive to such an idea. Probably she might well have been – that was why the temptation was so great.

But no, I'd told her ten o'clock the next morning, so ten o'clock on Sunday it was to be. I wondered what she was thinking and feeling down there – was she going over it in her mind as much as I was? I'd forbidden her to masturbate, of course, but I had no way of knowing and no way of stopping her. I'd not been able to stop myself from doing so with thoughts of her running through my head once I got back to my flat – if things were half as bad for her and yet she was still obeying, she'd have to possess an incredible amount of willpower.

I was up early on Sunday, nervous, excited, anxious. The minutes seemed to drag by so slowly – I showered, dressed, thinking carefully this time about how to present myself... Casual but authoritative, was what I was trying to achieve. Short dark shirt, dark jeans... 

8.53am. 

Over an hour to go. I tried watching television but of course there's never anything on on Sunday mornings. Tried going online, or listening to the radio, but all the time thoughts running through my head of whether she'd turn up, how she'd look, what I'd do to her when she got there... The adrenaline was pumping, and I think what terrified me the most was not that she wouldn't turn up, but that she'd turn up and I wouldn't be able to think of a single thing to do with her when she got here.

Oh God, what was I going to do?

9.10am.

Calm down Ian, calm down... I found myself flicking through the books of hers that I'd confiscated, novels filled with all sorts of ways of restraining and punishing and generally degrading willing submissive women. That I had such a woman of my own to play with now... The thought was electric. I had to put the books away in the end, as they turned me on so much and I didn't want to masturbate again before she got there, decreasing my drive and excitement for what was to come.

9.37am.

She wasn't going to turn up. I had convinced myself of it. There was no way she was going to come – what sort of intelligent, articulate woman in her late thirties willingly allows herself to become some sort of submissive little sex slave to a man over a decade her junior who she hardly knows at all who just happens to live upstairs? I could be a maniac, a rapist or anything as far as she was concerned... Fuck, maybe she thought yesterday was some sort of assault? Maybe she felt intimidated? Maybe she's going to call the police, and it would soon be them knocking on my door rather than her?

9.51am.

Relax Ian, she's just not going to turn up, that's all. Women aren't as addicted to weird kinky sex as men are, surely? It was just a one-off experiment for her, she's not going to call the police but she's hardly going to turn this into a regular thing...

9.58am.

See? Completely quiet, nobody on the stairs, nothing... Wait, was that a door opening downstairs?

9.59am.

I can hear the click, click, click of stiletto heels slowly, carefully climbing up the two short flights of stairs that link this floor with the one Below. Oh My God! This is it, this is really it!

10.00am.

Knock, knock, knock. Three tentative taps at the door – I wait, looking down at my watch. Stand up, go to the door. Pause. She waits too, and then, a little more firmly, three more knocks.

10.01am.

I open the door. Cool, calm and in control – it suddenly seems to fit, my heart's still beating and the adrenaline is still pumping – especially when I see what she looks like, Oh my God! – but I know now what I'm going to do. It feels right and natural. 

She's smiling, nervously but eagerly, her eyes bright and sparkling. As instructed, she is wearing a short skirt, so short it probably qualifies more as a micro skirt than a mini, only a few inches down from her thigh... If she was bent over it would ride up enough for anybody to be able to see what underwear she was wearing, if any at all. It is black and soft and smooth. Her legs are also smooth, gorgeously so, looking longer and sexier than ever today as they balance atop a pair of heels so high that I wonder how she can possibly walk in them. Black shiny leather shoes, they are... Mmmmmmm. Her top is also black, armless, cut low enough to be able to see a more than generous amount of her ample bosom. She stands there, still and silent, as I run my eyes up and down her, happy and proud to be inspected, keen to show that she has obeyed all instructions, but perhaps nervous of my reaction.

She looks superb, of course. But I can't praise her – that would never do.

"You're late," I snap simply. "It was ten oh one when I opened this door. I expressly said ten o'clock precisely."

She looks aghast.

"But..."

She knows better than to protest, however, and trails off, looking down.

"You'll be punished for your unpunctuality, of course," I say off-hand. "And for protesting. I hope you don't give me cause to punish you for anything else this morning."

"I'll try not to... sir."

The 'sir' sounds almost like a question, an attempt to establish just how she ought to address me, something we never discussed yesterday. We're still newcomers at this, trying and testing the boundaries, the rules and each other's limits, how the game is to be played. I like it though – 'sir'. Oh yes. I nod, and stand aside to let her in.

"In you come."

She totters forward in those heels, looking around the room as I shut the door behind her. She looks almost as if she is going to say something, perhaps behave like a normal visitor, say how nice the room looks – and it's true that I have made an effort to tidy up a little, as if it were some ordinary visitor coming. But it's not, and she realises this, shutting her mouth and deciding it would be best only to speak when spoken to.

"I hope you have obeyed everything else I told you yesterday," I warn her sternly, walking around her as she stands nervously in the middle of the room. As I walk behind her I look down at her gorgeous backside, and I have one of those wonderful moments of realisation – this isn't some random woman in the street in a short skirt who you look at and think 'blimey, I'd love a bit of that...' She's mine, and I can do with her as I please. I feel like a child at Christmas as I reach out and brush my hand lightly against her behind. She isn't expecting this and she jumps slightly, almost shivering.

"I'm not wearing any knickers, sir," she confirms as I keep my hand on her arse, squeezing and caressing one of her cheeks as I press myself up against her, my mouth against her left ear.

"Good," I whisper into it. "And the other thing?"

"O-other thing, sir?"

"You haven't played with yourself since I saw you? Haven't been messing around with yourself, getting your fingers all sticky and wet?"

She shakes her head, her smooth hair brushing delightfully against the skin of my cheek.

"No sir."

If that's true, then she's got a stronger will than I have. Not that I'd ever tell her that, of course. From the way she says it, I get the feeling that it is true, and I'm impressed.

"You wanted to though, didn't you?"

She nods, and again there's that wonderful feeling of her hair moving against me.

"Yes sir. Very much so."

"I bet you lay in bed all night pressing your legs together, trying to stop yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, I did. It was agony, sir."

"Excellent..."

I lean down a little and move my hand from her backside to the back of her leg, drifting a finger slowly up and down, feeling how smooth her bare skin is there. She sighs slightly, the air gently flowing over her barely-parted lips.

"You like that?" I ask as I move the finger up to caress the skin of her upper thigh, just where it disappears under her skirt. 

"Yes sir..."

I consider moving my hand up under the skirt, seeing if she's wet and excited yet, but I resist, stopping a few inches short of her most sensitive of spots. There'll be time for that later, and besides – I don't yet feel entirely confident enough to... Well, feel her up, basically. She's come here to be dominated, not messed around like a teenager behind the bike sheds on the night of the school disco. I remove my hand, walking around to stand in front of her.

"Well, if you're a very, very good girl for me today, you might be allowed a little satisfaction," I tell her. "But only if you're very good."

She bites on her bottom lip nervously in that stunningly sexy way of hers, and for the briefest of instants I simply want to throw her onto the couch and take her there and then, roughly, passionately, no fuss or preamble. But I rein myself in quickly enough. The best things, as they say, come to those who wait.

"I'll try sir," she says, really meaning it. But of course, we both know the whole idea is that she'll fail, and that I'll have something to punish her for.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now though I have to inspect you."

"Inspect me, sir?"

"Well, you don't expect me to simply take your word for it that you aren't wearing any panties, do you?"

Her eyes light up and she almost grins, but she manages to make herself look suitably serious as she shakes her head.

"No sir, of course not."

"Good. Over here."

I point to the table, which I've already cleared the surface of earlier in the morning in the knowledge that it would probably come in handy. I realise as she stands at one end of the rectangular object that it's a little too short for her to be bent over comfortably, so for a moment I leave her, disappearing into the bedroom and bringing back two large, plump pillows from my bed, which I place next to each other on the table in front of her. She looks down at them and then at me, knowing what will be required of her.

"Lean forward," I instruct. She does, and standing opposite I get a wonderful view of the globes of her breasts as her she leans right down, into the pillows, arms outstretched in front of her. I move around behind her, and trace a line with my finger down the curve of her backside before I hook the finger under the hem of her tiny little skirt and pull it up over her waist. The skirt is tight and stays firmly up where I pull it, fully revealing the glorious flesh of her naked behind.

"Very good girl," I whisper quietly as I smooth my palm across the flesh, which is ever-so-slightly red from yesterday's exertions.

"Not too sore?" I ask.

"No sir," she replies, her head leaned to one side against one of the pillows I placed on the table. I smack her, hard, and she yelps in pain, drawing in a sharp breath.

"A pity," I say. Then, my hand still on her arse, leaning forward across her back to whisper into her ear:

"I'm going to make it sting so hard you won't be able to sit down for a week..."

An exaggeration, of course, but one that excites her as much as it does me. She says nothing, but I can tell by the way she trembles as I stand back up. If I moved my hand a little lower I could slip it between her legs, feel how wet she is... But I don't. I still don't feel as if it's time for that yet, time for me to touch her with such familiarity, even though I suspect she would almost certainly welcome such contact. Instead I draw my hand back once more and again strike her as hard as I can, so hard I can see the print of my palm left firmly imprinted on her vulnerable flesh.

We play the counting game again, aiming straight at thirty this time. When we reach twenty she loses count, and says twenty-one – I suspect she does it on purpose. We start again, this time going all the way up to forty, sixty strikes altogether having rained down on her delicate flesh. She moans and breathes deeply and occasionally cries out in pain or pleasure between strikes and counts, and I get carried away, putting everything into it, enjoying the simplicity of the feeling that spanking her gives, the release of tension and energy as I sting my own palm hitting her again and again as hard as I can, all the pent-up lust and desire and frustration on both sides being vented out. 

But I know we're treading water, repeating ourselves. We did all of this yesterday – we simply cannot play the same games again and again if this is to continue. It's fun, but I worry about her becoming bored with me, with our arrangement, the terms of which are still uncertain to either of us. As she lies there, panting, struggling to get her breath back both from her excitement and the roaring pain of her glowing red backside, I know we have to move on, try different things.

"Stay where you are," I tell her as I stand back and admire the effect of the blows on her skin. "Don't move."

Again she says nothing, merely obeying without question. 

"And close your eyes," I instruct her as I move around the table and head again into my bedroom. I suspect of course that they're already closed, but I don't want her seeing what I'm bringing back out with me. I want her to be nervous, have the delight and the anxiety of anticipation, of blind feeling.

Also, of course, I don't want her to see what a makeshift job I'm having to make of this – I've never done anything like this before, so I am unprepared, having to make do with the materials I have to hand. I return to the main room a few moments later with her vibrators and hairbrush – still in their shoebox container from the day before – as well as several of my own ties, the best thing I have to hand to secure her to the table with. I fear she'd laugh if she could see what I was going to use, so I am glad to see that she had obeyed and is keeping her eyes shut.

I place the shoebox on a free area of the table near one of her outstretched hands, the wooden surface smeared with the moisture from her sweaty palms, which have been moving around the table as she endured and enjoyed her spanking. I place the ties over the back of one of the chairs still next to the edge of the table, and I pick one of them up.

"Lift your head," I tell her.

She does so, and I pull the tie around it, covering her eyes, to doubly ensure that she will not be able to see anything from this point onward. I secure it with a knot at the back of her head, pulling it tight but not too tight – I have no wish to hurt her, not with this. Odd how I have no qualms about angrily striking her backside again and again and again, but I feel slightly embarrassed about the possibility of putting a blindfold on uncomfortably.

She breathes in noticeably more quickly once she is blindfolded – this is bondage, this is what I suspect she has been dreaming of for some time. Interesting.

Taking another tie, I secure one end to her left wrist and the other to the top of the nearest table leg – mercifully it just about reaches, stretching her arm out tightly. Moving around the table I do the same to her right wrist – she says nothing, and allows her arm to hang limp, submissively accepting her imprisonment. Both arms are now stretched out, tensed but not painfully so as far as I can tell, pulling her down onto the pillows.

I pick up the last two ties, moving back around behind her and crouching to the ground. Taking one of her shapely ankles in each hand, I lift them and guide them apart until her legs are spread, her feet still in their ridiculous but somehow alluring high-heeled shoes next to the other to table legs. I tie each ankle firmly to one of the legs, so she's trapped, spread and vulnerable.

Still crouching there once my work is complete, I look up – I'm only inches away from her sex, and I can see it, smell the overpowering scent of arousal, see how very, very wet she is. So open and exposed... If I leaned upwards just a little I'd be close enough to stick my tongue out and lick her. I could touch her, feel her, take my cock out and fuck her if I wanted to, she's tied down and trapped and couldn't do a thing about it.

I want to... God I want to. But I don't. I'm playing the long game here, there's so much more to do and experience before we get to that stage. Besides which, she'd enjoy that too much – she has to suffer first.

Instead I stand back, and admire my handiwork. I've never seen a woman tied and bound in real life before, in the flesh, inches in front of me. It gives me such a feeling of power, of control... But it's all the better for knowing she wants it, is a willing participant. This is not something I could ever do to a woman normally, but when it's part of a game, a consensual arrangement, the guilt and the taboo is not there and instead simply the glorious feeling of arousal and power.

"You're trapped," I say to her, pacing in a gentle circle all around the table so she'll never know quite where to expect me to attack first. "You can't move, you can't see... Bound and blindfolded. You love it, don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do..." she admits, breathily Then quickly, she remembers: "...sir."

Smack!

"Quicker to remember the 'sir' next time," I point out.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry."

"Oh you will be..."

Walking around her again, pacing slowly, quietly...

"You've always wanted this, haven't you?" I ask her. "To be in bondage... You fantasise about it, don't you?"

"Yes sir."

"That's why you downloaded all those photos from the Internet, photos of girls – women – like you, chained, tied, cuffed, unable to move, to resist... You always imagined yourself as them, put yourself in their role, in all your deepest, darkest fantasies, didn't you?"

"Yes sir. Always"

"How long have you dreamed of this for?"

She seems unsure whether to perhaps give a real answer or a fantasy answer in the game. Standing at her side, I reach around and give her another sharp smack, jolting her in her bonds.

"Answer!"

"A long time sir," she confesses. "Years."

"Has anybody ever tied you before?"

"No sir."

She sounds genuinely regretful that this has never been the case. I wonder why it has taken her so long to explore this side of her sexuality, but then again, I'm only just discovering this side to me as well. Well, only just discovering that I have the ability to put it into action, in any case. I wonder if it's all about meeting the right person, as it is in romance, that sudden click of compatibility, but this is no time for a serious discussion of such issues.

"Well now you've gotten what you always wished for," I tell her. Then, leaning in to whisper closely in her ear once more: "and you know what they say about being careful what you wish for..."

Carefully, and very, very slowly and quietly so that she won't be able to hear or guess what I am doing, I pick one of her vibrators – the shocking pink one – out of the box and walk behind her. Seeing from behind how exposed she is, hot and wet and quivering with anticipating, makes me yearn once again for her, but I know teasing her will be all the sweeter and longer-lasting a sensation, for her and for me. Again carefully and slowly, I move the vibrator to be so close to her sex it's almost touching her wetness. She can sense there's something there and I hear her breathing slow down almost to a stop as she prepares herself for whatever's about to hit her. I can't help but grin as I pause for almost a full minute, breathing as quietly as I can myself, the silence only adding to the almost unbearable tension.

Then I switch it on. Still not touching her, and only on the lowest setting so that it gently hums as it vibrates very, very slightly, but the effect upon Jane is still electric. She positively jumps in her bonds as the sensation of the air being disturbed about the vibrator hits her, and she can tell how very, very close it is. She pushes herself down, trying to touch her flesh against the vibrating plastic, but I pull it away sharply.




Neighbourly Relations Ch. 02



Smack! Smack!

"Bad girl!" I tell her sternly. "Do not move. Not an inch, do you hear me?"

Meekly, and in a voice dripping with desire, she manages to reply:

"Yes sir."

I turn the vibrator's speed up a little, to halfway, and again hold it close to her. She really has to restrain herself, forcing herself to ignore the urge to try and grind herself down against it, and eventually I reward this perseverance by pressing the plastic tip just very, very gently against her, barely touching her, just for the briefest of moments.

"Oohhhhhhhhh......."

She cannot suppress the moan of pleasure, which fades into disappointment as I quickly withdraw the implement. She doesn't beg or plead for more though, she already knows better than that.

"You want more?" I ask teasingly.

"Yes... sir. Yes please, sir."

"More of this?"

I place the vibrator against her once again, this time sideways-on, rubbing it slowly up and down, up and down.

"Oh God yes!" she cries, her whole body spasming as the pleasure flows through her, again interrupted after just a few moments as I take it away, and she falls flat, crying out in frustration.

"Please..." she whispers desperately, barely audibly.

I say nothing but grin to myself, switching the vibrator up to full speed so that she can easily hear how fast it's going. Once more I press the very tip against her, this time right up against her clit, and she cries out sharply in pleasure. Again it's just for a moment though, and again the pleasure quickly turns into frustration.

Again and again I put her through this, sometimes allowing the vibrator to touch her just for the briefest of moments, sometimes for several seconds at a time, but never long enough to allow her full satisfaction. Once or twice I even allow the end of it to slip inside of her, but never very far, always leaving her excited but unfulfilled. She becomes so wet it's almost unbelievable – the vibrator is slick and sticky with her juices, which also drip from between her legs to the floor, forming a sticky little puddle of desire in the space between her bound feet.

"I know what you want," I tell her quietly as I push the vibrator into her soft, wet, welcoming sex. "I know all about what you want, you dirty girl..."

Further and further into her until it's almost all the way in, and despite my earlier command she forces herself as far as she can back onto it as she moans deeply in pleasure, thinking this time, this must be the time I'm going to allow her to finish, to experience the glorious climax she's been building up to for so long...

But no. I switch the vibrator off and pull it out, leaving her desperate and bewildered, her moan fading into a cry that sounds like real physical pain as her ache is left once more unfulfilled.

"This is what you want," I say, as I place the vibrator back into the box and pick up the hairbrush. Barely giving her time to process my words, I draw it back and then slap the flat plastic side of it hard against her, right between her legs, right into her wetness. It hits her with a resounding smack, sounding like a hand being brought crashing down onto flat water as it strikes her sopping dampness.

"This is what you want, what you need, isn't it?" I demand, as again and again I force the brush against her, harder and harder with each blow, my fingers gripped so tightly around the handle that my knuckles are white. Again and again the plastic surface lands with painful force and speed against the open, wet and unprotected space between her legs.

"Yes!" she cries out joyfully, lifting her head up from the table. "Yes sir!" she shouts, even louder. "Oh yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

She's close now, so close, the stinging pain right in her most sensitive of areas exactly what she needs, the delicious contrast of the torture and the extreme pleasure. She's bucking and writing in her bonds, making the table shake with the force of her movements as I hit her so many times I lose count, losing myself once more in the action of striking her as her cries build and she gets closer and closer to orgasm.

Now it's time, now is the moment between us. I drop the brush to the floor where it falls with a clatter, and then start using my hand, slapping her ever harder with my bare fingers, which come back sticky and wet with her juices as they make contact with her.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

This is too much for her and she can no longer form words, merely guttural animal noises as she shouts out, about to reach her orgasm. With the last smack I plant on her sex I keep my hand there, touching her properly for the first time as my slippery fingers reach out for her clitoris and massage it furiously, rubbing up and down as quickly as I can. Instinctively she pushes herself down as far as she can onto my hand, her thighs pumping as she basically fucks it for all she's worth. This is far, far too much for her and at last it sends her over edge, crying out in ecstasy as finally I allow her to reach the orgasm she's been waiting for, shouting out in blissful oblivion.

When she's done, she sighs deeply and collapses back onto the sweat-soaked pillows beneath her, taking long, deep, grateful breaths, utterly spent. I barely know what to think as I withdraw my hand from her, and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. I can barely believe what has just happened, and I'm in something of a daze.

I leave her there for a little while, getting her breath back, calming herself down. I wash the brush, the vibrator and my hand, placing the implements back into their box and putting the box away in my room. After a few minutes I move back to her, her body still stinking of sweat and sex, and I gently unbind her, taking all of the ties except for the blindfold back into my room. When I return she's still bent over the table, silently awaiting commands, her breathing close to normal. 

I pull her skirt down again, covering her wetness, and allow her to close her legs which she'd kept spread, gently touching them to encourage her to place them back together. Then I lean forward, undo the blindfold and just as she lifts her head to allow me to take it away, I give her a gentle, tender little kiss on the cheek.

"You may stand," I say quietly.

She does so, looking shaky on her feet, but the look in her eyes and the smile she wears tell me how deeply satisfied she is. Her face is flushed red and strands of her hair stick to the sweat on her forehead, but I can tell from the way she looks at me that she wouldn't have missed a single moment of this morning for anything in the world. 

Well, neither would I.

"You can go," I tell her simply. "Oh, and the same arrangement still applies as regards touching yourself – you are only to experience pleasure as and when I wish it, understand?"

I still have no way of enforcing this of course, but she nods all the same. Her submissiveness may be a little more confident and playful now we're in the aftermath rather than in the full-on throes of the game proper, but it's still there.

"Yes sir," she replies brightly.

"Good. Now go home and have a shower – you stink."

She looks at me, a little unsure for a moment, perhaps nervous again.

"You could..."

She stops, seems to think better of it, trailing off. I'm curious, however.

"Yes?"

She swallows, composes herself, looks at me meaningfully.

"You could shower with me?" she suggests, quietly.

I shake my head. God, two days ago if a beautiful woman like that had made such an offer to me I would have been in there like a shot. But that was two days ago – things are different now. That's not to say I'm not tempted – Christ, I'm tempted – but I know I can't.

"No," I say simply, and she looks down, disappointed and despondent. "I'll be in touch," is all I say. "Now go."

She nods again and goes to the door, opening it. Just as she's walking out, however, she pauses, turns back to me, and whispers:

"Thank you."

Before I can reply she's gone, shutting the door behind her, the sound of her heels clipping on the stairs as she descends to her own flat.

Once she'd gone, I collapsed onto my sofa, grinning to myself about what had just happened. I realised how damp my own underwear was probably getting – my cock had been positively leaking pre-cum as it ached ever harder beneath my jeans, yearning but unsatisfied itself. It occurred to me that in neither of our encounters so far had I asked or made Jane do anything for me, gotten any direct satisfaction from the experience... But that would come, I had no doubt about that. Besides, the experience was more than enjoyable as it was – the constant adrenaline surge of arousal, strung out over a long period of time... It was bliss.

Mind you, I still needed something at the end of it. Closing my eyes and thinking back over the extraordinary morning I'd just spent with her, I reached down and began to unzip my jeans...



Neighbourly Relations Ch. 03



For the next two days I basically ignored her.

I wanted to keep her waiting, and also to see how eager she was, whether was going to make special efforts to try and attract my attention and be disappointed that I hadn't gotten in touch with her again yet. It's not easy to try and think about other things when you know you have a woman downstairs who's basically prepared to drop her knickers for you any time you go down there and ask, but that wasn't the way this relationship, or whatever it was, was going to be played.

The next time I saw her was on the Monday evening, the best part of a day and a half since our exertions in my flat the previous day. I got home late from work, tired and a little irritable, although my heart still leapt slightly when I got into the main hallway of the building in which I lived and saw her there, just about to enter the doorway of her own flat. I wondered whether she'd been waiting there for a while, just trying to catch me as I got back from work and pretending she happened to be there by chance, hoping to catch my eye. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a loose white top, and looked as gorgeous as ever, bright and perky and sparky.

"Hello!" she greeted me enthusiastically as I closed the main door behind me. I looked at her for a second, thinking through all the things I could say, but I elected to treat it as just another chance meeting between two people who happen to be neighbours. I responded in exactly the same way I would have done any time before Saturday.

"Hi."

I didn't even hang around to see what the look on her face was like, simply heading up the stairs to my own flat. She seemed to pause there by her door for a few moments longer though as there was a brief interval before I heard her own door open, and she headed back inside.

If she was hoping for a friendly chat, or a Monday evening session of game playing, then she was going to be disappointed. We couldn't do this every day, after all – not simply because it would lose its magic, but because I wanted to keep her waiting, aching and yearning. It would also make it all the more difficult for her to keep her promise that way, too.

Nonetheless, I thought about her a lot, of course. How could I not, after the weekend we'd had? I thought about her pretty much all the time, remembering, fantasising, trying to decide how I was going to play this, what I was going to do next. I'd been in a daze at work that day, my mind spinning with all of it, and I still half-feared that I was going to wake up and find that it was all a dream.

Tuesday morning I saw her again – this time before work, as I noticed out of the window of my flat that the postman was exiting our building. Heading downstairs to check to see if I'd had anything delivered, I saw that she was already there by the door, scanning through the envelopes. She had a purple top and a long grey skirt on, the top low cut giving me a good view of her cleavage once more, the gap between her breasts accentuated today by a dark pendant she wore, which hung down so low around her neck it was almost between them.

"Good morning," I said to her as I stood mere inches away, looking through the discarded letters that she'd left on the mat, not for her.

"Morning," she replied casually, clearly having realised that we were supposed to be pretending to barely know one another, even though there was nobody else around. Had there been, there was no way they could ever have guessed the things we'd done together only days beforehand. 

This time she didn't wait to see if I said any more, merely heading back into her flat as I went back upstairs to mine, to finish getting ready for work. She'd made a good show of seeming supremely indifferent towards me, and at work that day I began to worry that perhaps my attitude had put her off, and she assumed that I didn't want to have anything to do with her any more.

Those fears were dispelled on Tuesday evening. She wasn't around when I arrived home, but after I'd been back in my flat for a little while I emerged from the shower and was walking through to my bedroom when I noticed a little slip of white paper on the floor by the front door. Curious, I walked over to it and saw that it wasn't paper but an envelope, left blank with no writing upon it. Bending down I picked it up – it hadn't been sealed, but left unstuck with the flap tucked in to the main body. There was a letter inside, a short one written neatly in black ink on a sheet of lined paper that seemed to have been torn from a notebook. 

It was, of course, from her. She must have slipped it under the door while I'd been in the shower, or perhaps earlier in the day and I'd simply missed it when I'd come in from work. Either way, I read it with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. 

Ian – 

I just wanted to say, if you don't want to carry on with what we've started, that's fine. I've enjoyed it, and I hope you have to. But I want to carry it on, more than anything else in the world.

Do you?

I hope so.

I'm yours, I hope you know that by now. Anything you want to do to me, you can. Anything you want from me, you can take. Anything. 

Your obedient slut,

Jane

I was always going to get back in touch with her anyway, of course. But something about way she signed off, 'Your obedient slut', just did it for me. I was hard for her even from that brief little note, and I knew that the time had come to put her out of her misery.

A quick phone call put the arrangements I needed in place, and then I dialled her number. I didn't know it, but as I knew the address and the name of course it was easy enough to get from directory enquiries, and mercifully she wasn't ex-directory. I felt my anticipation grow as the tone dialled, and I just hoped she hadn't gone out.

Click.

"Hello?"

That wonderful voice, soft and gentle but at the safe time refined and articulate.

"Hello slut."

"Hello sir!"

Even her attempt to sound submissive couldn't disguise the excitement and the glee in her voice, but I didn't mind that. I was grinning myself – this was again a rather more playful moment, perhaps.

"I hope you've been behaving yourself, like a good girl?"

"Yes sir," she replied enthusiastically. "Although it is very difficult."

"Of course's it's difficult. If it weren't, the rewards wouldn't be so great, would they?"

She sighed in pleasure, doubtless from the tacit confirmation that there would be some sort of a reward for her eventually, and whispered a croaked-voice little:

"No sir."

"Good. Anyway, I can't talk for long. The Cantina, Mexican restaurant, St Philip's Road, do you know it?"

She seemed surprise at the question.

"Yes sir, I do," she replied, the curiosity evident in her voice.

"Good. Friday, eight o'clock. Table for two. Don't be late. Oh, and wear a nice dress."

I hung up before she could reply, having given all the relevant information. Three days to wait – that wasn't long. Now, I just had to hope everything went according to plan with the other arrangements I had in mind for the evening…

To her credit she was very good at keeping up the pretence of no acquaintance as those three days ticked past. We met a couple of times in the hallway and despite a look of longing, some desperate desire for a spark of recognition from me in her eyes, she said nothing other than the most cursory of 'Hellos' whenever we saw one another. I ached to be with her as much as she did for me, but I'd set my mind for how to play things, at least for the time being, and I wasn't going to deviate from that. If things developed further between us as the days and weeks went by then… Well, we'd see how it went.

I didn't see her at all during the day on Friday, not in the morning, not when I got back from work, not once. I showered and changed and left the building at about seven thirty for the walk down to St Philip's, but whether she left before or after me I didn't see her at all on the journey, enjoying the walk through the pleasant summer evening.

Nevertheless, there she was waiting for me outside the restaurant once I got there, standing looking a little nervous with her hands clasped around her handbag, clutched tightly to her stomach. I almost didn't recognise her at first, as she looked positively ten years younger – radiant, really. She'd had a haircut, her hair was a little shorter now bobbing just around the level of her cheeks, and she was wearing the most gorgeous little red dress – short hemline, low cut, showing off both her wonderful legs and her shapely arms. In short, she looked absolutely gorgeous. She broke into a grin as she saw me approach, and walked a few steps towards me along the pavement in her matching red shoes.

"Hello sir," she said quietly, nervously, looking furtively around at the other people walking along the street. I appreciated the gesture, and was really quite touched by it – a demonstration of subservience out and about in public. However, that wasn't really why we were here, not tonight.

"I think we can dispense with the honorifics tonight, don't you?" I suggested as I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled gorgeous too, and positively giggled with surprise and delight at the way I was treating her.

"Ian then?" she asked, unsure.

"And Jane," I confirmed, offering her my arm which she eagerly took, and I led her into the restaurant.

Very soon we were seated at the booked table, a nice little spot in the corner by the window. It was a busy night, but we had some degree of privacy there, which I was grateful for. 

"I hope you don't mind," she said, indicating her shortened hair.

"Not at all," I assured her. "You look lovely."

She smiled bashfully, seeming like a teenager on her first date, despite the fact that she must surely have done this sort of thing many times before, unlike the other activities we'd recently been indulging in together. Now though, we were simply on a date – a man in his mid twenties and a woman in her late thirties might not be the most usual of pairings perhaps, but it was not the most outrageous of age differences. Besides which, I didn't give a damn for that – she was by far the most attractive and most interesting woman I'd met for some time.

We chatted idly about all sorts of things over the starters, and it was not until a few glasses of wine had flowed and we were well into our main courses, relaxed and chatting and laughing, that I began to think about pressing her a little on the whys and wherefores of what we were doing, and just who she was really. I was glad that we seemed compatible outside of sex, anyway – we seemed to share a similar sense of humour and interests in some similar things. Speaking comfortably and happily like that, it was incredible to believe that the previous weekend she'd been tied down bent over my living room table having her sex spanked. It was as if that Jane and Ian were two different people – we were now a separate couple just getting to know each other for the first time.

"So when did you first become interested in bondage?" I asked her quietly, with false confidence – despite everything I felt as if I were prying a little. She was just swallowing a mouthful of wine as I asked her, and she almost choked on it. I smiled at her surprise, but as she looked around to see how near the other diners were, she knew that despite her surprise and embarrassment she had to reply.

"I suppose I've always known, really," she explained, toying with the stem of the wine glass as she held it in her hands. "You know… When there were films on TV that had scenes like that… I'd always be interested. Excited. I'd think about it sometimes…"

"But you never tried it?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"I can't imagine there are many men who'd turn down their girlfriend's request to be tied up and spanked," I pointed out, enjoying her squirm as I was so explicit. I knew that nobody would be able to hear or care what we were saying. 

"I… I suppose I was embarrassed," she explained, fidgeting with her fork and looking down at her plate, the meal on which she had almost finished. "I was ashamed, I suppose. I felt guilty. I thought it was something I had to keep secret, hidden away."

"But you don't feel like that now?"

She shook her head more confidently, smiling again. 

"No, not with you. It's different this time. It's…"

She thought about how to phrase it. As she did so, I moved my foot to rub gently against hers, running the side of my shoe softly up and down her lower leg playfully.

"Exciting?" I whispered. "Kinky? Arousing? Thrilling?"

She half-closed her eyes and nodded, sighing, as she moved her own foot to rub in turn against my leg.

"All of that," she confessed. "You make me feel like… Like there's nothing to be ashamed of. That's it's natural, right… I can't remember ever feeling this good about anything, ever. I feel… Free."

"Me too," I assured her. She grinned, positively glowing with pride.

The waiter came over, briefly interrupting our little intimate chat and asking if we wanted to make any dessert orders. I've always been partial to a bit of ice cream and she seemed keen, so we both placed orders. As we waited for the desserts to arrive, I steered the conversation back toward our favourite subject.

"And you've still been good?" I asked her.

She nodded eagerly.

"Oh yes. Very good."

"It's difficult I bet."

"Yes. Especially given…"

She broke off, looking down and smiling in embarrassment.

"Go on," I prompted her, trying to sound reassuring. 

"Especially when I think about what you've done to me… What I'd like you to do to me. All the time. I can't help it, it's just so wonderful. I can't stop thinking about being tied to your table like that, the feelings…"

The waiter arrived with the desserts, and even though it was unlikely he'd overheard anything she went crimson with embarrassment. I laughed at her squirming, and when she'd cooled down a little with some ice cream I asked her, as calmly as I could despite my own excitement:

"So you think about it a lot then…? When you're in the shower, for instance, your fingers don't trail down…?"

She looked positively forlorn, at the same time her eyes sparkling with the hideous enjoyment of being teased.

"God…" she sighed. "You really love turning the screw don't you?"

I grinned viciously.

"No more than you love having it turned."

With surprising frankness, she replied:

"I'd rather be screwed."

And God how I would love to do it. And I would, we both knew that. And it would be wonderful, but not yet.

"All in good time," I assured her. "In the meantime…"

I reached into the pocket of my jacket, hanging behind me on the chair, and pulled out the small plastic bag that had been waiting in there all night. There were no markings on the bag, no indication of what was inside, although the shape alone gave away that it was a box – what was inside the box of course she would have no idea. Placing it on the table, I slid it across toward her as her eyes followed it, curious.

"Take that, and go to the toilet and put it on," I instructed her quietly. "Then come back here. Oh, and you can take your knickers off while you're there – bring them back here to me. I quite fancy a souvenir of this evening – battle honours, if you like."

She looked for a moment as if she might protest, staring at the bag in front of her as if she were afraid it might explode. Nonetheless, after a moment she picked it up and pushed her chair back, moving across the restaurant towards the ladies' toilet. I smiled as I watched her walk off, those long shapely legs moving elegantly under that lovely short dress. I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she came back.

What I'd handed her in that bag was something I had never actually believed existed. I thought it was pure fiction, something you only ever see or hear about in sex stories online or the fantasies of porn film makers, but after visits to three shops necessitating a train journey to a larger neighbouring town, I'd actually managed to discover that not only were they real, but I'd been able to buy one. Now I just had to hope it actually worked.

It was a strap-on, remote-controlled clitoral stimulator. Bloody expensive too I thought, but if it worked it would be worth every penny. A small, thin, piece of plastic, it was moulded on one side to fit snugly against her most private of parts when worn using the attached straps. Undetectable under clothing, it came with a small remote control that allowed the controller – i.e. me – to activate the stimulator from a distance of up to thirty feet. Inside the plastic was a small battery-powered electrical vibrator, which caused it to hum and buzz against the clitoris, basically… well, stimulating it. The clue was in the name.

I'd left it in the box so she'd know what it was and what it was for, although that much would probably have been pretty obvious anyway. I had, of course, removed the remote control already, and said device was now nestling comfortably in the pocket of my trousers. After taking the last mouthful of my ice cream, I ordered two coffees from the waiter and slipped my hand down to the control, waiting.

She was a little longer than I expected her to be, and I became anxious that she was going to storm out, point-blank refusing to wear the thing. But finally she emerged, plastic bag in one hand, her other curled into a fist, a stubbornly determined look on her face as she sat back down. She placed the box on the table, sliding it back toward me, and I picked it up – it was lighter, definitely empty. I smiled at her, proud, as I put the box back into my jacket. Then she stretched out her other hand, the one curled into a fist, and opened it, dropping a tightly-bundled pair of small, lacy black panties onto the table in front of me, which opened up as they landed.

"Very nice," I commented wryly as I took her underwear and pocketed it, enjoying the sensation of the soft, skimpy material that had just been so close to her sex against my skin. I got rid of them just in time too, as the waiter arrived with our coffees. We sat then, alone, silent, our coffees steaming gently in front of us as we stared at each other, me smiling devilishly, she wearing a tight, determined little grin.

"I cannot believe you!" she said quietly, shaking her head gently. "I absolutely cannot believe you."

"You don't have to wear it," I pointed out as I took a sip of my coffee.

"Yes I do," she replied. "You know I do."

"Why?"

She gave the answer I hoped she'd give, one that gave me the most terrific rush and made my cock even harder under the table, if such a thing were possible.

"Because you told me to."

"You could still refuse, end the game, go back to being neighbours who exchange the occasional word every now and again…"

She shook her head once again, more definitively this time.

"I can't do that," she said. "You know I can't. I waited so long for this… I need it."

"Need what?" I asked innocently. "This?"

For a moment she froze, looking at me with a 'you wouldn't?' kind of a stare. But I would, and I did – I flicked the switch in my pocket and turned on the stimulator, on the lowest of its three settings. The effect was wonderful – she jolted suddenly in her seat, her face spasming in a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

"Oh God……" she sighed deeply, closing her eyes.

"Good?" I asked.

"Exquisite," she breathed. Then, opening her eyes and looking around worriedly as she shifted on her seat: "and horrible. Please?"

Just to show that I'm not a complete ogre, I switched it off. She sighed once more, although whether in relief or loss I'm not sure. I was just glad the thing worked, thinking of all the fun we could have with it.




Neighbourly Relations Ch. 03



"Your coffee's getting cold," I pointed out to her.

Cautiously she took the coffee up in her hand and began taking a gulp. She had of course almost certainly predicted what was about to happen next, but that didn't stop me from doing it anyway – flicking the stimulator back on I racked it right up to the top setting, making her splutter and choke, drops of coffee spraying up across her face as she hurriedly put it down, her face a mask of pleasured torment. I could hear the stimulator this time – just very quietly, like the vibration of a mobile phone that's been left on silent mode, not enough to attract anybody's attention. As long as she could contain her writing in pleasure, of course.

"Please…?" she begged quietly.

"You don't want to have an orgasm?" I asked with mock surprise. "After all, it's been five days, and that's an awfully long time… Still, if you want to wait, who am I to argue?"

I switched off the device and she moaned deeply, attracting one or two stairs this time, her face lighting up in embarrassment once again as she realised that some nearby pairs of eyes were on her. I simply smiled, as she looked at me with a kind of loving irritation, if such a thing is possible.

"Don't pretend you don't love it," I smirked.

"That doesn't mean I can't hate it at the same time," she replied, wiping the drops of coffee from her face with a napkin.

Soon the waiter came over for the bill, giving me another chance to test her resolve as once more I flicked the control, this time to the medium setting. She was becoming practised at hiding her reactions by now, managing to hold herself still and even smile and thank the waiter as I handed him my credit card, but once he had disappeared off to make the transaction she fixed me with that infamous 'look' all women have. I left the device buzzing, my eyes locked on hers, on and on it went as she began to shift in her chair, breathing ever more deeply as it built and built inside her. The waiter came and went once more to return my card, and we barely noticed. She began to move more and more as if her chair was hot, on fire, and I suppose in a way something down there was as she opened her mouth widely, taking deeper and deeper breaths, looking at me pleadingly, glancing across to the toilet as if she wanted to run off into there and rip the thing from her. But no, she stayed, the pleasure and the knowledge that she was obeying me outweighed any embarrassment factor, and just as it seemed she was about to be able to have an orgasm without everyone in the whole restaurant seeing and hearing – quite the feat, I have to admit – I switched it off.

She slumped in her chair, looking something close to tears.

"You bastard," she whispered breathily, with real venom. Nonetheless, she still grinned, and I joined in, laughing.

"Come on," I said brightly. "Let me walk you home."

She looked concerned.

"Can't I…?"

"No, you're wearing that home. Come on."

I took her by the arm and walked her out of the restaurant, saying goodbye to the waiter as we left. I wondered whether he was going to have some inexplicable stains to clean off her chair afterwards.

Walking back together in the cool summer night air was wonderful, her on my arm, pressed up close next to me. I slipped my arm out from hers halfway along the walk and moved it down to her backside, caressing it gently as with my other hand I flicked the stimulator back onto its low setting.

"You have no pity do you?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. 

"Well, we could always try and cool you down if you're getting too hot…"

As I said this, I took the hem of her skirt in my hand and began to lift it. She gave a little whelp of horror, for the first time in our relationship resisting one of my advances as she batted my hand away, looking behind us worriedly to see if anyone was looking. The path was quiet, however – I wouldn't have done it had there been anybody else nearby.

"I'm not wearing any knickers!" she hissed in disbelief. "Anybody could see."

"Why not let them see, when it's so nice to look at?" I asked, lifting her hem once more and exposing her bare backside to the cool night air, only the thin straps from the stimulator running across the it like a particularly revealing thong. I leaned back myself to take a good look. She squealed in horror and buried her head in embarrassment into my shoulder, but didn't try and stop me this time, merely suffering the torment as I saw fit. Eventually, however I let the dress drop back and patted her backside affectionately.

"Good girl," I told her.

"You'll get me arrested," she scowled, at the same time giving a sigh that was very definitely one of disappointment as I switched the stimulator off. We had arrived back at our building, ascending the steps together. Once inside, we stood for a moment at her doorway, she looking at me expectantly.

"When will we…?"

"Tomorrow," I told her. "That's if you're free, of course."

"Of course!" she assured me, with a tone that gave the impression she was always free for me, and probably always free anytime. I wondered for a moment why she didn't seem to socialise much, hadn't mentioned any friends or so forth, but that wasn't something I needed to consider right there and then.

"Good. Shall we say… midday, at my flat?"

She nodded eagerly, doubtless already wondering what I was going to have in store for her then.

"What should I wear?" she asked.

"Another short-skirted, low-cut dress," I explained, running my eyes appreciatively once more over her current such outfit. "Darker colour this time. Some nice underwear too – something frilly and sexy, in white. Oh, and stockings – I want to see what those gorgeous legs of yours look like in those…"

She nodded, obeying without question. I knew that even if she didn't have such items she'd go out and buy some tomorrow morning. For me, for my viewing pleasure. That wonderful feeling of control came back… God it was amazing.

"And this thing…?" she asked, nodding downward.

"What, this?"

One more quick buzz on the high setting, making her jump. Only a brief one, though.

"Yes, that," she said through gritted teeth.

"No, we won't be needing it tomorrow. Only wear it as and when I request. I'm sure we can find lots of occasions when it'll come in handy. So take care of it."

She nodded once again.

"That's it I think," I told her. "Sleep well, won't you – and don't forget, no touching!"

"I won't," she assured me, with great conviction. "And I just wanted to say…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For tonight. It's been wonderful. I can't remember the last time I felt… Well, that I had such a nice evening."

Her eyes showed real, deep-seated gratitude, and she looked so lonely and beautiful and sexy all of a sudden… Christ I wanted her then. Just looking at her, our eyes locked together, I made a sudden decision and leaned forward, pressing my lips against hers. Her lips parted in gratified surprise and our tongues slid together, and we kissed tenderly and deeply and passionately for some time, our eyes closed, lost within each other's embrace, before I gently pulled away, kissing her top lip gently before stepping back.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"Thank you," I said, turning and heading upstairs.

Things were progressing very well indeed.



Neighbourly Relations Ch. 04



I slept in late the next morning, with no work to get up for on a Saturday. It was about half nine when I finally staggered out of bed, awoken by the sound of men's voices and heavy objects being shifted around on the landing outside. Throwing on some clothes, I went to the door, ostensibly to go downstairs and check to see if I had any post, but really to see what was going on out there.

On the landing, two burly-looking middle-aged men were shifting a large wooden crate through the door of the flat opposite. The building I lived in was a strange sort of a place, originally some kind of Victorian factory or workhouse, it had been converted into flats sometime during the 1930s and its unusual design meant it had rather a odd layout – nine flats on the ground floor, where Jane lived in No. 9, and only five on the floor above, which covered a smaller area and meant that two of the flats were lucky enough to have roof terraces, although mine being one of the cheaper ones wasn't one of them.

The flat opposite however, was. No. 10, which had been empty for about a month now, finally seemed to have found an occupant. I lingered on the landing outside of my door for as long as I thought I could get away with before the two removal men exited again and I followed them downstairs.

The front door was open, of course, the men being engaged in bringing in the new tenant's belongings from their van, and it was as I picked my post up off the floor – with a large muddy footprint across one of the envelopes, causing me to glare angrily at the truck – that I saw my new neighbour for the first time.

Directing the men as they lifted an antique-looking coffee table – "careful with that, that was my mother's!" – she stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the main door watching the men as the carried the object inside. She was quite pretty – tall, thin, blonde and blue-eyed, positively Aryan, although her hair was cut short in a tomboyish bob. The tomboy look was added to by the way she dressed, a pair of battered blue jeans and a thin green-and-grey hoped jumper with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was in her late twenties by the look of her, thirty at the most, just a few years older than I was. As she saw me looking at her through the open door, she smiled warmly.

"Hello!" she waved, walking up the steps towards me and offering her hand. I shook it – she had a firm, determined handshake, and overall gave the impression of having quite a vibrant, outgoing personality.

"Hi," I replied.

"Alison Nah, your new neighbour," she explained. "Just moving in to number ten, upstairs."

"Ian Wells," I replied. "I live opposite actually, number eleven."

"Oh excellent! Nice to meet you Ian!"

"Likewise."

"Listen, I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but I have to supervise these gorillas, you know?"

"Yes of course..."

"Sorry about all the noise and everything!"

"Oh that's fine... I'll see you around?"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other a lot better."

The 'gorillas' returned, having deposited the coffee table up in the flat, and went to the van for the next item. I kept my eyes on Alison for a moment as she directed them once more, then retreated back upstairs to my own flat. She had a nice smile to her and a good figure, no doubt about that. Much more pleasant to look at than Mr Neilson, the old man who'd occupied the flat before her until he'd rather suddenly died on his way to the newsagent to pick up his daily newspaper one morning. 

Life, it seemed, was looking up.

As pleasant a distraction as the delightful Miss Nash was, however, I was more than happy with my own sweet submissive slut at number nine, to whom my thoughts quickly turned as I tucked into my breakfast of a large mug of tea and several slices of toast. I had a couple of hours until she arrived to decide just what wonderful games I was going to play with her today. I had a rough idea of course, now I just needed to make the refinements.

The hours went by slowly, as seemed to be becoming usual when awaiting the wonderful times I knew Jane and I would be sharing. As usual, her arrival at midday was preceded by the sound of her high-heeled shoes clicking on the stairs, and I was ready and waiting for her by the door when she knocked, more confidently this time than she had the previous Sunday.

Opening it, I announced proudly.

"Twelve o'clock dead on. Well done."

It was only then that I noticed the door of number eleven opposite open, and Alison standing there looking at the pair of us with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. I don't know how long she'd been standing there or what she was out there for, but she fixed me with a knowing look I found half-arousing and half-disturbing before she turned and closed her door.

Jane turned to follow my gaze, looking back at me when she saw the door was closed.

"Who was that?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

"Her name's Alison, she's just moved into number ten there."

"Oh God, she saw me like this... What will she think?"

I smiled warmly.

"Does it matter?"

Reassured by my tone of voice, she smiled and shook her head.

"No."

"No what?"

"No sir."

"Better. Come in."

She entered and, with a last glance at the door of number ten, I closed the door behind her, ready for another session.

She looked gorgeous, as I could have predicted. Her dress was very dark blue, and just as short as the red one she had worn the previous night had been, with again a more than generous amount of cleavage on display. Her brilliantly smooth and silky legs were this time though clad, as instructed, in a similarly wonderfully smooth pair of stockings. Exquisite.

"Is it all right, sir?" she asked nervously.

"Impeccable," I informed her. She smiled proudly.

"Thank you sir."

"Now come over here, sit on the sofa."

She did as instructed, placing herself on the edge of the battered upholstery. Not the most glamorous of settings, perhaps, but it would have to do.

"Cross your legs," I told her, and she obeyed. Crossed, stocking-clad legs... Is there a more gorgeous site in this world, I wonder? I can't readily think of one. Just to add to the perfection, her skirt rose up a little on her raised leg, just enough to get a glimpse of the top of the stocking and the promising white flesh beyond.

"Wonderful," I breathed. "Stay there for a moment, don't move."

As usual she obeyed, not passing any comment or offering any question about what she was being asked to do. I fetched my digital camera from my room and moved back through to the living room, switching it on and selecting the highest-quality setting.

"Today we're going to be taking a few pictures," I explained. I had expected her to question the idea – after all, pictures were evidence, and evidence could one day be used if anything ever turned sour between us. But instead, she seemed rather excited by the prospect, her face breaking into a smile.

"What kind of pictures sir?" she asked with a calculated air of innocence that was far too sweet and alluring to be anything other than pretence.

"Wonderful pictures," I explained as I kneeled and aimed the camera to take the first shot. Click!

"Teasing, tantalising pictures," I explained. "Pull your dress up a little higher, so I can see some more flesh... Mmmmmm, that's it... Now turn sideways a little..."

Click!

She seemed to have a real affinity for this. Perhaps it was another one of her fantasies.

"Pictures that would get any man hard if they were... oh I don't know, uploaded to a pornographic website for anybody to see... 'Click here to see Jane'... Mmmmm, can't you just imagine it?"

She could, of course, and the idea seemed to half fascinate and half horrify her as she looked at me wildly.

"You're not going to –"

"No," I assured her. But seeing the excitement that had danced in her eyes: "At least, not at the moment."

I put the camera down and sat next to her on the sofa, whispering into her ear as I stroked her wonderful, smooth, stocking-clad leg.

"But you'd like that, wouldn't you?" I asked her. "Deep down, beneath the shame and the degradation and the humiliation... No, because of all those things. All those men, hundreds, maybe thousands, looking at pictures of you, pictures of you undressing, teasing them, posing for them... Pictures of you tied up, naked, being teased, being spanked, being fucked.... Being dominated, and all on public display..."

She sighed and leaned back against me, her eyes closed.

"Oh yes sir..." she breathed. My hand moved under the hem of her skirt and for a moment I stroked the soft, uncovered flesh of her thigh, before standing and moving back across the room to my camera.

"Come on then camera slut," I barked. "Your audience awaits. Off with the dress."

She looked at me only for a moment before nodding and slipping the shoulder straps of the dress off, before pulling it down, kicking off her shoes and stepping out of the dress. As instructed, her bra and knickers were white, lacy and skimpy. Perfect.

"Strike a pose," I instructed, lifting the camera once more. "Hands on hips. Smile!"

Click!

"Now turn around, let's see that arse... Oh yes, they'll love that. They can't get enough of that. Now bend over, let's see it pressed against those pretty little panties..."

Click! Click!

I didn't know if I was really going to share any of these photographs, of course. If, in the sober light of reality afterwards she was still up for it then it was certainly a tantalising idea, whoring her online like that. After all, who need ever know? But for now, the mere fact that the fantasy of the idea of men downloading pictures of her – as she had downloaded pictures from the internet to fuel her own submissive fantasies – so clearly turned her on was enough for me.

"Now for the stockings," I instructed her when I had enough photos of her in this particular state of undress. Without needing any further bidding she carefully removed these from her legs, giving me plenty of opportunity of taking photos of her as she posed delightfully while removing them. She was, it seemed, a natural tease, and I wondered idly whether perhaps one day it might be nice to give her the chance to use those teasing skills on me in a more physical manner.

But that was for another time.

"Right, sit back on the sofa, and put a hand in your knickers... Oh yes, that's it, make it look like you're enjoying it."

"I am enjoying it," she sighed. "Sir."

"Well don't enjoy it too much!" I snapped.

She sat back upright, removing her hand.

"No sir."

"Remember why you're here, slut."

"Yes sir, for you sir."

"For my pleasure. Not for yours."

"Yes sir."

"Good, now..."

I paused. This was about to be another little milestone in our relationship – I'd not seen her breasts yet, those wonderfully promising glances at her cleavage were the furthest I'd gotten. Despite everything else, it still seemed like a major step. I was positively licking my lips.

"The bra," I said simply.

She too seemed to realise what a step this was as her eyes locked on mine and she reached around behind her, unhooking the bra. For a moment she held it there, then she allowed it to fall, unwanted, to the ground.

He breasts were as wonderful as I had expected, pert and keen for her age, wonderfully shapely and rounded with erect, darting little nipples.

Click, click, click.

After a few shots, however, I abandoned the camera temporarily and moved across to her, kneeling in front of where she sat on the sofa, placing my hands gently against her breasts. I ran my palms down them, before tracing the curved outlines with my fingers, and then gently taking each nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

"Do you like this?" I ask.

She nodded again.

"Yes sir."

I squeezed, and she winced.

"This?"

"Yes sir," she said, a little more forced. I squeezed more tightly.

"And this?"

Her face displayed the pain she felt, but once more she nodded.

"Yes sir."

I removed my hands and quite suddenly delivered a short, sharp smack to her left breast.

"Liar."

She gasped, both from surprise at the slap and the relief of having her nipples released. Her left breast was red where I'd struck it.

"They're not firm enough," I lied.

"I'm sorry sir," she said miserably.

"Yes, well, we'll just have to make do with what we have, meagre though it is. Perhaps we can perk them up a little..."

She looked up at me.

"I hope so sir. Whatever it takes."

The last sentence cut through the game and was a very real message to me. Do whatever you want to do. I can take it.

I nodded.

"As I said, we shall see."

I moved through to the kitchen, knowing exactly what I was looking for – the long-handled wooden spoon kept at the back of the cutlery drawer there. When I walked back into the living room armed with this innocent-looking cooking implement, she regarded it with wide eyes and drew a deep breath. She knew exactly what was coming.

"Hands behind your back," I told her. "In fact..."

Momentarily leaving the spoon on the table, I grabbed one of her abandoned stockings from the floor and used it to bind her hands tightly together where she'd obediently placed them behind her back.

"Sit up straight," I further commanded, going back for the spoon. "Nice the straight, that's it. Chest out."

She thrust herself forward, proud and ready, but at the same time I could see the dreading anticipation in her eyes.

"Now I don't want any fuss from you, understand?"

She nodded stiffly.

"Yes sir," she replied.

"Good."

Smack!

I brought the spoon down hard and without warning on her left breast, and it collided with the flesh with a satisfyingly full sound. She bit her lip and shuddered slightly, but managed to keep herself sitting upright and didn't say anything.  

"How does it feel?"

"It stings sir," she replied.

"Good. That means it's working. We'll soon have those little tits of yours nice and pert, won't we?"

"I hope so sir."

"That's the spirit."

Smack!

This time right onto her nipple, and she did let out a little cry, flinching as she did so.

"I said quiet, slut!" I demanded, smacking her again, and she tried to keep still. "And don't move!"

"I'm sorry sir!"

"You will be."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Very quickly her poor breasts began to pinken and then redden from the force of the blows I was pouring down upon them with the spoon. I couldn't hit as hard or as meaningfully with it as I could with some implements, but it was perfect for administering painful little slaps all over. After delivering countless blows, I moved across to the other side, so that the force would be concentrated more on her right breast, which had so far received less attention. Again she struggled to keep still, desperately trying not to cry out or to flinch.

"What do you think?" I asked, standing back and admiring her sore-looking breasts, patterned in places by the shape of the edge of the spoon.

"I... I think they're a little better sir," she said, her voice wavering with the pain. 

"Yes, well, they'll have to do. At least we've brought a little colour to them, eh?"

"Yes sir."

I returned to the camera, taking aim once more.

"Don't forget to smile for the camera," I reminded her.

And she did, bless her. She managed one of her wonderful, tantalising smiles as she sat there with her hands tied behind her back, her breasts painfully sore from a long and hard beating, naked but for a single flimsy pair of white knickers.  

"Now, panties," I told her. She looked at me with some puzzlement.

"Panties, sir?"

"Panties. You know – the thin, white, flimsy little things that are just barely keeping you modest at the moment, you little slut."

"Yes sir, I know, but... I don't quite understand?"

I gave an exaggerated sigh, as if I thought I was dealing with an idiot.

"Take them off!" I demanded.

"But... My hands?"

I folded my arms and looked at her angrily.

"Take them off."

Looking somewhat at a loss as to what on Earth she was going to do, she nonetheless bravely tried to remove them with her hands secured as they were behind her. She could just about push them down at the back with her hands in that position, and she tried to catch them on the edge of the sofa and wriggle out of them, but although they came down a little, enough to reveal the wispy fluff of her trim pubic hair, she couldn't get them any further and eventually she slumped back, miserable and defeated.

"Honestly," I sighed. "Do I have to do everything?"

"I'm sorry sir."

"Be quiet slut. I'm sick and tired of hearing that from you."

Suddenly I moved forward and grabbed her, hauling her from the sofa and turning her around so that she was now facing it.

"On your knees!" I barked, already pushing her down toward the ground as I did so. When she was there I pushed her forward, her face down in the gap between the two main cushions.

I then moved back, grabbing her feet and moving them out as far as they would go to either side so that her legs were wide open, her panties stretched tightly across her backside. Then I grabbed the other discarded stocking leg and tied it around her right knee, tying the knee to the right leg of the sofa, which had enough space at the bottom to get the material around. For her left knee I used the discarded bra, which was just about long enough to allow me to secure that limb in the same way. Then, just to keep her warm for a moment while she awaited what was to come, I slapped her hard on the backside through her knickers, making her cry out.

"Stay there slut," I mocked, knowing that she wasn't going to go anywhere. She didn't bother replying as I made another journey to the kitchen, returning this time with the pair of scissors I kept in there. Her eyes were very wide, hair bedraggled across them as she looked at me walking back toward her holding the scissors.

"Head down," I commanded, and she obeyed. I pressed the scissors against her backside, making her jump at the touch of the cold metal, before I slowly, carefully sliced through the thin material of her skimpy underwear, cutting a line right through which allowed me to pull them clean off. She was bare, vulnerable and completely at my mercy.

Just how we both liked it.

"Time to get some colour in those cheeks, eh?" A rhetorical question, of course, but she answered anyway.

"Yes sir."

There was no counting this time, no games. Simply me, kneeling to one side of where she was trapped, smacking her bare backside with my hand again and again and again and again. She whimpered and cried and moaned but I took no notice. I didn't even count myself how many times I slapped her, I merely watched almost transfixed as my hand came down again and again on the soft, supple flesh, turning it redder and redder as once more I beat her backside as hard as I could, wanting to make her painfully sore, give her something she would really remember the next time she sat down.

It was perhaps the best part of ten minutes before I finally snapped out of the daze I had fallen into, and I realised she had buried her head into the cushions of the sofa, weeping bitterly.

"Nice and warm?" I asked her, trying to keep out of my voice the fact that I was concerned I might have gone a little too far this time.

"Yes sir," she managed through the tears. And then, as if perhaps she sensed that I needed some reassurance that she was still enjoying the game: "Thank you."

I nodded, although of course she couldn't see it, and retreated back across the room to take up the camera once again.

Click, click, click...

"That's much better, got some colour in it now," I told her. "Wiggle it for me, come on, show it off."




Neighbourly Relations Ch. 04



She did as commanded, a spirited attempt to make her poor tortured bottom seem positively alluring, made of course difficult by being bound and kneeling. Christ, she looked so good... I wanted to take her, I wanted to just go over there and take her right there and then.

That was when it occurred to me. Why didn't I? It felt right, I knew she'd want it... The time had come.

I placed the camera down on the floor and walked back over to her, kneeling behind her. Slowly, tentatively I placed a hand against her backside. She flinched as I touched the sore flesh, but relaxed as I trailed a finger down the outline of her warm behind and then into the soft, wet space between her legs. And Christ, she was wet. Sopping, absolutely sopping.

"Someone's excited, aren't they?" I asked lightly as I just lightly traced lines up and down there with the very tip of my finger.

"Yes sir," she sighed, barely more than a breath. I paused my finger on her clit, massaging it very softly.

"You're a hot little slut, aren't you?"

A pause, and then:

"Hot for you, sir."

Was she deliberately trying to get me going, or simply speaking honestly? Probably the former. We were beyond games now, running on pure instincts. Moving up, I pressed myself against her, my chest against her back as I leaned to speak into her ear, my finger still gently massaging her wetness.

"You want something in you, don't you?" I whispered.

"Oh God yes... Yes sir, I do."

"Something hard and firm."

"Yes sir..."

I pressed my finger into her a little.

"You want to be fucked don't you, you little bitch?"

"More than anything, sir."

"You want to be taken, used for the only thing you're good for."

"Yes..."

"Good."

Was she surprised? She didn't say anything. Didn't move or make a single sound. I realised she was holding her breath in anticipation. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I moved back, unzipped my jeans, practically tore them off, my t-shirt then coming off over my head and then my underwear until like her I was naked, kneeling behind her, then forward against her.

"I'm going to take you now, slut," I told her. "Hard and fast and brutal."

"I'm all yours sir," she whispered in reply.

And then I was inside her. No fuss, no preamble, no ceremony, just my cock – my achingly hard cock, which had been waiting for this ever since I'd entered her bedroom was it just one week beforehand? – sliding smoothly into her, pressing so far into her my balls gently slapped against her.

"Oh God!" she cried out.

I said nothing, merely breathing as I slid in and out, in and out, luxuriating in the warmth and wetness of her. Fucking hell, she felt good! I couldn't remember ever having such a wonderful sensation, such a feeling of complete and utter unmitigated pleasure as I thrust into her, harder and harder and faster and faster, forcing myself against her, fucking her harder still as she bucked and rocked in her bonds.

"Fuck me!" she cried out in gasps between deep breaths. "Oh God, fuck me sir!"

I was already going just that, pressing my body firmly against hers as we moaned in unison. I knew this wasn't going to take long, we were both so close to the edge already. But fuck it felt good. I could feel a stirring in my balls as my orgasm built, and I got closer and closer...

Somehow – fuck knows how, because we were down to pure animal passion by that stage – I knew that I couldn't finish inside her. I had no idea what, if any, birth control she might be using, and as out of my mind with pleasure as I was I didn't want to take any risks. So at the moment, at the very moment of release I pulled myself out of her and grabbed her hair, no time to explain what I was going to do. Stepping backward I yanked her back by her hair, making her cry out as she collapsed backward. Standing over her, I barely had to touch my cock before I finished, the thick, sticky white waves of semen spurting out over her beaten breasts, cooling the reddened flesh as it dripped and spurted all over them.

She had finished as well, crying out and then closing her eyes, taking big, deep, grateful breaths of air as I collapsed to the floor next to her, too tired and too spent to say or do anything as I lay there, naked, on the carpet. We stayed like that, getting our breath back, for some time.

"Is it very sore?"

I'd let her use my shower, when I eventually recovered enough to release her from her bonds. Well, I could hardly let her go home like that, could I? Things were somewhat calmer now as I sat on the couch and she sat astride me, her hair with that gorgeously wet, bedraggled 'just out of the shower' look, wearing only my borrowed dressing gown. I'd opened the gown a little to take out and fondle her left breast, which I now gently cupped in my hand. It did look very sore.

"Yes," she answered, smiling happily down at me as she did so. "Thank you."

She leaned in and I went forward to meet her, our lips joining as we exchanged another tender kiss. She was a superb kisser, and I enjoyed these little moments of more tranquil intimacy between the two of us. Neither of us had said anything about the fact that we'd finally done it, taken the last major step. Fucked. The peaceful caresses we were now enjoying perhaps spoke more about that than words could.

"At least now you have some pictures of yourself to add to your little collection," I pointed out.

"Yes."

She did seem quite happy about this, but there was a look on her face that gave away a desire for something else.

"But...?"

"Oh, nothing."

I gave her a playful, light slap on her exposed breast.

"No, there is something. Are you going to tell me willingly or do I have to go and get the wooden spoon again?"

I knew that a part of her probably wanted another session with the spoon, but eventually she confessed:

"Well, there is something."

"Go on."

"It's just... What we did today. I'd like to see it. And not just with photos."

I was confused for a moment, before I managed to piece together what she meant.

"You want to see yourself getting fucked?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Is that weird?" she asked, seeming unsure about it herself.

"No weirder than anything else we've been doing," I pointed out. "So you want it videoed? You want me to video me fucking you?"

I knew she enjoyed the brutal emphasis I placed on the word fuck, and she smiled gleefully, nodding.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes alive and fiery.

"You kinky little bitch," I told her, smiling and somewhat taken aback, but pleased as well.

"Can we?" she asked.

"So you can fulfil a dirty little fantasy to be the slutty little star of your own porn movie? So you can watch yourself being tied down and taken again and again while you play with yourself at nights?"

She closed her eyes, her mind swimming in the images I was creating for her.

"Please..." she whispered.

Who was I to deny a woman her fantasy? Especially when it was so deliciously sordid – and I wouldn't mind having a video of some of our activities, either.

"Of course," I said. She positively squealed with delight, and again it seemed impossible to believe that this was a mature woman in her late thirties.

"Tomorrow," I told her. "Making pornography seems like more of an evening activity, so shall we say... Six o'clock?"

She nodded vigorously.

"What shall I wear?" she asked.

"You choose," I told her. "It doesn't really matter, you see – it won't be staying on for very long..."



Neighbourly Relations Ch. 05



One slight problem with our arrangement for Sunday evening was that I didn't actually own a video camera. Not that I'm complaining, of course – I would more than happily have paid twice what I did down at Dixon's that Sunday morning for the chance to capture her beauty and her submission on camera. So there was a definite spring in my step as I returned home that morning, already beginning to try and plan the details of what I was going to put Jane through in our little movie later that day.

When I got back to the building, I met my new neighbour, Alison, on the steps, walking back in with the Independent on Sunday newspaper and a pint of milk. She smiled thankfully as I held the main door open for her, looking casually sexy in dark jeans and a baggy white t-shirt. We walked together up the stairs to our floor.

"You had fun with your friend yesterday?"

She phrased it more like a statement than a question, and I was thrown – panicked even. What did she know? How had she found out? What did she think? 

"Excuse me?" I spluttered.

"Your friend, you know – the dark-haired woman on your doorstep dressed like she was on the pull? You'd think a man would remember something like that, especially after she goes inside with him."

She had a deliciously frank way of speaking, I had to give her that. I couldn't help smiling.

"Oh her, yes. Right. Jane – she lives at number nine, actually."

It occurred to me that Alison might have actually heard Jane's cries of passion as she climaxed yesterday. They were pretty loud. Well, what the hell if she did? We were both consenting adults, after all.

"Been shopping?" she asked, pointing at the Dixon's bag as we reached our floor.

"Yes... New video camera."

"Nice..." She turned her key in the lock and pushed her door open. "Well, you and your friend have fun with that."

She winked at me and then disappeared into her flat, shutting the door before I even had time to realise that I hadn't mentioned Jane having anything to do with my purchase of the camera, nor would I have done.

That Alison was turning out to be a very intriguing woman indeed.

But it was Jane who I found all the more intriguing, of course, and beguiling. I spent most of the rest of the day trying to work out where best to place the camera – I couldn't afford a tripod as well, so it was just going to have to sit on the table – and how to set out my little amateur film set.

I managed to have it all worked out relatively quickly, and having my plans in place with so many hours still to go before my leading lady arrived only meant that I was all the more excited as I counted down the minutes until six o'clock. I could of course simply have phoned her and gotten her to come up right away – she would have come, no doubt about that, but I'd said six o'clock and that was that. I'm the sort of guy who likes to stick by his arrangements, once he's made them.

Eventually the hour came, and I was half-mad with desire and anticipation, leaping out of my chair and waiting by the door as soon as I heard the sound of her feet on the landing outside. She was still knocking on the door as I opened it, surprised that I was there so quickly and then grinning, pleased to see her Master once more.

It was hot and muggy weather out today, and she was certainly dressed for it, even though we of course would be going no further than the confines of my flat. All she wore was an orange bikini-top, a tight little denim miniskirt and light brown strappy open-toed shoes.

"You said I wouldn't be wearing it for very long," she explained confidently, not yet quite deferring to her role as the meek little slave girl. "So I decided I may as well not wear very much."

I nodded approvingly, standing aside to let her in and then giving her denim-covered behind a playful little slap as she entered.

"Ow!" she yelped, grinning.

"You look like a slut," I told her.

"Thank you sir," she replied proudly. However, after a moment her smile faltered a little.

"What's the matter?"

"It's nothing really, it's just..."

"Yes?"

"Well... I met that woman on the stairs, just as I was coming out of my flat. She was on her way out somewhere."

"What woman?"

"The new woman in number ten. Alison."

Ah, the delightful Miss Nash once again.

"Surely you weren't embarrassed about her catching you with nearly nothing on?" I teased. "It's none of her business, after all..."

I have to admit though I did enjoy the idea of Jane being caught in the slutty little outfit that was doubtless supposed to be for my eyes only.

"It's not that," she told me. "It's what she said."

I was definitely intrigued now.

"Oh?"

"We said hello to each other, and she introduced herself, said how she'd just moved in... Then she looked at me sort of oddly, and said – 'I hear Ian in number eleven has just bought a new video camera'. And then she... She winked at me. And told me to 'have fun'. Ian, what does she know?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing. Also, the image of Alison dropping such hints to Jane was a delicious one – I was getting some devilish thoughts about what those two girls would be like taken together... Mmmmmmm... Oddly though, I somehow couldn't quite picture Alison being the willing little submissive, not like Jane.

"She saw me coming back in with the camera this morning, after I'd bought it," I explained, trying to reassure her.

"You bought a camera especially?" Jane asked, aghast. "I thought you'd already have one..."

"No expense spared – don't worry about it, honestly. Anyway – she saw you coming in here yesterday, and you know how you were dressed then. She probably just assumes... Well, assumes that we're doing what we are – two consenting adults having fun. Does it bother you then?"

As I asked this last question I approached her, suddenly sticking my hand up between her legs under her denim skirt and feeling her roughly through the thin, skimpy panties she was wearing.

"Does it bother you?" I continued. "One of your neighbours knowing what a little slut you are? Seeing you dressed like that, and like you were yesterday, thinking what a little hussy you must be, going upstairs to be fucked like a bad little girl?"

Already she was wet, and I pressed two of my fingers against her clit through the clammy material.

"I don't think it bothers you at all," I told her. "I think you love it, don't you?"

She nodded, sighing and half-closing her eyes.

"I do," she confessed.

"You do what?"

"Love it... Love being such a bad little slut..."

I removed my hand and slapped her behind again.

"No, you're still missing something bitch!"

Suddenly she remembered.

"Sir! I love being a bad little slut, sir..."

"Better."

I left her for a moment, going over to the window and drawing the blinds shut. I switched on the lights, completing our secluded little studio set-up. It occurred to me that on neither of her two previous visits to the flat for submission had I closed the blinds – some lucky enthusiastic pervert across the road could have watched it all, although I doubted it. 

Picking up the video camera, I switched it on and aimed it at her, watching as she regarded it with barely-concealed excitement on her face. I placed my thumb on the record button, ready to begin our own little kinky movie.

"Ready to degrade yourself further by becoming a porn star, slut?" I asked her eagerly.

"Yes sir!" she enthused.

"Honestly, such a little whore. What would your mother say?"

Instead of seeming embarrassed at this, she simply grinned. I pressed my thumb down on the button, and began to record.

"Okay then," I told her. "Here we go. You're on camera now, the star of the show. Smile for us."

She smiled and posed alluringly as I ran the camera slowly up and down her body, concentrating on her lovely legs and of course those barely-concealed breasts, which still looked red and sore from the beating they'd received the day before, as well they should. I zoomed in on them, before zooming back out a little and concentrating on her face.

"Introduce yourself, slut," I demanded. "Tell us who and what you are."

She was a natural at this, and needed little prompting. Again, I suspected that she was now at last living out one of her longest-held little fantasies, the pretence of ultimate porn star degradation.

"I'm Jane," she told the camera lustily. "And I'm a bad, bad little slut. I'm very lucky though, as I have a wonderful Master to punish me for being such a little whore and make sure I'm put in my place."

Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I was hot and wanted her already.

"I think we should show them what a hot little slut you are," I told her. "Turn around and bend over."

She did as commanded of course, and I crouched down to get a good view with the camera as that tight little denim skirt – that couldn't possibly have been a regular part of her wardrobe, she must have purchased it specially – rode up high over her behind and exposed the damp knickers of hers, which turned out to be red. I zoomed in on the thin, wet material, the evidence of her wanton lust.

"You're so wet," I told her. "You can't even control yourself, can you slut?"

"No sir," she admitted as she stayed bent over, pretending to sound miserable about it.

"This is why you need to be punished," I explained.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

"You may stand."

As she stood I set the camera back down on the table, carefully making sure it was positioned and zoomed out correctly to be able to get a good view of the 'main stage' I'd elected upon. In the wall at the end of the living room, quite high up towards the ceiling, was a small metal hook. Set into one of the main beams of the building, it was quite strong enough to hold her weight – I'd already tested it myself earlier on. Usually a picture hung on it, but that had been removed and the bare hook was large enough to be able to hold a bind to tie her.

But she knew none of this yet, of course. I went and stood by the hook.

"Come here," I told her.

She followed me to the wall, looking up at once at the hook above her, knowing almost certainly what it was for. As she looked up, I looked down at her wonderful cleavage, and realised at once that the bikini top was actually the perfect bond with which to tie her, and without saying a word I moved behind her, unclipping it and letting it fall to the ground. My hands drifted around to her breasts, and she winced as I massaged her sore nipples between thumb and forefinger, pressing down against her breasts with the other parts of my hands.

"Nice?" I asked.

"Yes," she lied, pushing herself against my touch. I grinned, removing my hands and slapping her breasts quickly.

"Ouch!" she yelped.

"Quiet!" I warned her.

"Sorry sir."

I leaned down and picked up the bikini top.

"Against the wall," I told her, pushing her forward so she was facing it. 

"Hands up," I added, placing my own hands under her arms to force them upwards. "Stretch."

Her wrists came up to either side of the hook – perfect. Taking the top, I placed the short linking section between the two cups over the hook, then used the straps either side to tightly bind her wrists together, leaving her hanging against the wall. She was stretched quite far, the muscles in her arms tensed and taut.

"Shoes off," I told her, looking down and seeing that her high heels were allowing her to still stand properly on the ground.

"But..."

Smack!

A firm one, no longer playful, against her backside, and having the double effect of pressing her sore breasts against the wall as she flinched forward.

"I said off!" I exclaimed, smacking her once more for good measure.

"Yes sir," she said compliantly, lifting her feet and wriggling them out of the shoes. As they fell from her feet I kicked them to one side. Without the heels the hook was just too tall for her to stand against, and she was on tiptoe, her big toes just barely touching the carpet, her body swaying just slightly. Perfect.

"Nicely strung up," I said, more to myself than to her.

"Yes sir."

There was a delight, an enjoyment in her voice. Picking up one of the ties I'd taken out of the bedroom to use on her, I placed it around her head, blindfolding her, and this time not caring how tightly I pulled it, enjoying her little gasp as I jerked it into a firm knot at the back of her head.

I left her then to walk back across the room to the camera, looking through the viewfinder to make sure I had a good view. It was perfect – the image of this beautiful woman in only her short skirt hanging against the wall, blindfolded... Oh yes, this would certainly be a home movie to savour.

"How's your backside today, slut?" I asked her as I moved back across to stand at her side.

"Sore sir," she replied.

"Does it hurt when you sit down," I asked, excited.

"Yes, sir. It's terribly uncomfortable."

"You're not complaining I hope."

She shook her head.

"Oh no sir!" she replied, with genuine feeling. "I love it sir."

"I know you do, you little bitch."

Smack!

"Oh...!"

I moved behind her and reached around to undo her skirt, pulling it apart and letting it fall to the ground. I let my fingers stay in front of her for a moment, pressed against her flesh by being between her and the wall, then sliding down to play with her again through the ever-damper material of her panties... 

"Red is a very slutty colour, isn't it?" I whispered to her as I pressed her knickers against her wetness.

"Yes sir," she admitted.

"A slutty colour for a slutty girl, eh?"

She nodded again.

"Yes sir."

I thrust myself against her, still clothed, in a parody of fucking her from behind as I worked her more firmly with my fingers, and she moaned deeply, leaning back against me, still unsure of herself however as she hung from the hook, not certain of her space and how well she stood. I allowed her to enjoy the sensation of being touched for a moment or two longer before I moved my hands and hooked my fingers under the waistline of her knickers on either side of her hips, kneeling down on the floor and pulling the panties down with me, sliding them across her silky-smooth legs and off over her feet.

"Oh look," I said, looking up at her wonderful little arse. "It seems your pretty little backside matches the colour of your panties..."

"Yes sir..." she breathed, seemingly too aroused to think of much other to say than that.

I moved to the side again, eyes fixed on that burning red little backside of hers, ready to inflict some more pain on it.

Smack!

"Oh..."

Smack!

"Uh..."

"I thought I told you to be quiet?" I reminded her.

She bit her lip as I delivered further smacks, the fiery red of fresh punishment adding to the previous soreness of her cheeks. Much as she tried, however, she couldn't hold back the moans as I smacked her still further, and her breasts once more pushed against the wall. 

Again though, we were simply repeating ourselves. I gave her only twenty smacks and ignored the rest of her cries.

"That should do for now, I think," I told her. "Just to remind you that you can't be a slut without expecting some punishment..."

"No sir," she whispered. Then: "Thank you for teaching me, sir."

"That's all right. Don't forget to wiggle that pretty little bottom for all your fans. They want to see how red it is."

She did as commanded, trying her best to wiggle when pinioned on a hook, pressing her backside out toward the camera as much as she could. I went back across the room and picked it up, zooming in on her backside as I moved toward her.

"Tell us how it feels," I told her.

"It stings horribly," she confessed.

"But it excites you, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes. I love it... It..."

"Go on."

"It makes me wet, sir."

"You really are such a hopeless little slut, aren't you?"

"Yes sir."

"You don't even care that all the viewers are going to see how you were punished, had your bottom spanked like a little girl, trussed up there, helpless. In fact, that excites you even more, doesn't it?"

"It... It excites me that they think I'm such a little whore, sir."

In all likelihood the only ever audience for the tape would be the two of us, of course, but the imaginary future audience had become a part of this particular game now, making it more exhilarating for both of us.

I placed the camera down again, this time in a new position on the side of the sofa, propping it up with a book under the front of it, aiming it carefully to make sure it took in a lovely close-up shot of the main of her body, from her head down to her knees, this time from the side-on angle.

"This is the part of our little film I think our viewers are really going to enjoy," I told her delicately.

Another item I had brought through from my room when preparing for the filming earlier in the day was one of her vibrators – the lurid green and gold one, as it was larger. This I picked up now, moving behind her.

"Spread your legs."

Spreading them meant that even her big toes no longer touched the ground, and she was left swinging from the hook, even more beautifully desperate and helpless than she had been before. As she gently swung there, I moved the vibrator up between her legs, nuzzling the tip of it against her damp sex, without switching it on.

"You know what this is?" I asked her.

"My vibrator sir?"

"See how the slut knows the barest touch of it so well?" I pointed out to the camera. "You've gotten so used to fucking yourself silly with it, haven't you?"

"Yes sir..."

"Wasting all your energy stuffing this up yourself in your bed, allowing yourself countless orgasms, you dirty little girl."

"I'm sorry sir."

"Yes, well, sorry isn't good enough. You're going to pay for it now."

Suddenly, I slid the vibrator up into her, as far as it would go, only the last inch or so sticking out between her legs. There was a dial on the bottom controlling the speed – I turned it a little anti-clockwise, feeling it give and click as it switched on, on the very lowest setting. It rumbled slowly and deeply inside her, and she gasped. She doubtless wondered how on Earth this was any form of payment or punishment. Well, she didn't know the half of it yet. She gave out a low, guttural moan of satisfaction.

"Close your legs," I told her, holding the vibrator in place with a single finger pushed up against the base as I stood back up. She obeyed, locking the vibrator in place as her thighs closed around it. Doubtless it could still slip out, however, so I warned her:

"Tense your muscles around it. I'm going to take my finger away from it, and if it slides out there'll be hell to pay. You understand?"

"Y... Yes sir," she gasped, clearly becoming rapidly more and more aroused, the very base stages of her orgasm building as the toy continued to vibrate gently inside of her. I removed my finger, and the vibrator slid out just a little, but her tensed muscles – which also wonderfully firmed up her behind all of a sudden – were enough to keep it in place.

"Good girl," I told her. 

I picked up her panties again, sliding them back over her feet and pulling them up her legs, fitting them snugly back over her backside.

"Now, let go."

As I had hoped, the elastic of her knickers was tight enough to keep them up while holding the weight of the vibrator – the very fact that her legs were closed helped to keep it inside of her anyway. Now it was firmly held there, there was no way it could fall out, and still it worked its wonderfully terrible magic on her.

"I do hope you're not thinking of having an orgasm," I warned her darkly as I stood to the side of her furthest from the camera.

"I... I can't help it sir!" she gasped desperately.

"Well you'll just have to. I shall tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to spank you, very hard, twenty times. You needn't bother counting, we won't be concerned with that today. You can make all the noise you want. You just have to bear it, and make sure you don't climax while I'm spanking you. Even when I'm finished you may not, but you have to take the twenty spanks to make sure you get your reward, you understand?"




Neighbourly Relations Ch. 05



"Yes sir..."

"Good. If you do orgasm before I've spanked you twenty times, well... I'm afraid then we'll have to make it a hundred. With the bristle side of the hairbrush. And no reward at all, and that'll be it for today's film."

"A hundred?" she gasped.

Smack!

"You'll take whatever you're given!" I hissed angrily. "And you needn't think that one there counts as part of the twenty, either."

"No sir," she conceded meekly, her breath getting faster and faster as the vibrator brought her to the next stage of her arousal. She was sweating profusely now, and clearly she was going to orgasm before very long. It was all down to whether she could take the twenty first.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yes sir!" she moaned, a wave of pleasure running through her. She shivered as she hung there. I looked up at the bikini top holding her – it was secure, the hook was holding. I could begin.

Smack!

"One."

This time it was me doing the counting. I left a nice long pause before delivering the second blow.

Smack!

"Two..."

She was doing well. We had reached sixteen, and she was nearly there, through gritted teeth she was bearing it. I was glad, in a way – I was getting almost bored of spanking her now, and I wanted to give her the reward I had in mind.

That was when the knock came at the door.

I froze, my hand already halfway to her backside for the seventeenth blow. I let it fall, and stood up straight. Her head also perked up, and we were both quiet, the only sound the very low, muffled humming of the vibrator inside her. She couldn't hold her breath for long, however, and it soon came in quick little gasps.

"What is it?" she asked, panicked.

"Someone at the door," I told her. I began to move toward it.

"You're not going to answer it?" she asked desperately.

"Sir," I pointed out.

"Please sir...?"

I picked up one of my ties and placed it around her head, this time around her mouth. I yanked it tightly, gagging her, and knotted it in place. She groaned against it, and I grinned as I headed toward the door. If I opened it two-thirds the way or less there was no way whoever was there would be able to see around it and spot the naked woman blindfolded and gagged in her knickers with a vibrator stuffed up her tied against the wall.

She groaned again in desperation, but as she heard me slide back the catch and open the door she became deathly silent, knowing that she daren't make a sound.

It was Alison. My heart leapt, and for a moment all I wanted to do was invite her in, see what she'd make of it all. I fantasised about her wanting to join in. But no, this was reality – I couldn't be lucky enough to find two women in this building who wanted to play such games with me.

"Hello," I said, the door half open, standing very carefully to ensure she couldn't look around it, and holding it firm so it wouldn't open any further. "Sorry I kept you waiting."

"That's okay," she replied, grinning. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything...?"

She said that with the air of a woman who knew for certain that she was, and didn't care. She also tried peering around the door, but I stood my ground, albeit still smiling politely.

"No, not at all," I said casually. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, right, well I just wondered if you were free on Friday?"

"This Friday?"

Surely she wasn't asking me out after only having met me very briefly?

"Yes, that's right."

"Erm... I think so, yes. May I ask...?"

"I'm having a flat-warming party," she explained. "You know the sort of thing – a few friends, a lot of drink, and I thought it would be good to get to know some of my new neighbours. Would you like to come?"

Who was I to turn down an invite from a pretty woman like her?

"Definitely," I affirmed eagerly, nodding. "I'm sure I'll be there."

"Excellent! If you want to head over at about, say... Seven o'clock?"

"Sounds good to me – I'll bring a bottle."

"Good good – at least I know there'll be someone there, anyway!"

"Thanks. I'll see you then."

"Not if I see you first..."

She turned and walked a couple of paces away, and I was just about to close the door when she stopped and turned around.

"By the way," she said, a cheeky little grin on her face. "The invitation goes for both of you. Hope you're having fun in there."

I was too stunned to know quite what to say. I simply stood there gawping, my mouth open like a fish as she walked back into her own flat. Eventually, I remembered that I had other matters to attend to, and I closed the door and walked back across the room to Jane.

Poor woman. She was absolutely desperate by this stage, every single muscle in her body seemed to be tensed as she moaned desperately against her gag.

"Did you hear that?" I asked her. "I'm beginning to think you were right about Alison. She probably does think we're up to something kinky."

I distractedly ran my fingers lightly over the soft material of her knickers where they covered her behind. Oh well – no time to think about all that now.

"Where were we?" I asked, amused and impressed to see how hard she was straining against what she so desperately wanted. "Oh yes – that's right. Well, I really don't see how that last lot can count, seeing as how we were so rudely interrupted – we shall just have to start again from the beginning, won't we?"

She moaned loudly, even against the gag an audible 'No!' emerging, but she didn't have much choice in the matter. I left the gag on as she cried and moaned against it, straining harder than ever to hold herself together. I did, however, also increase the speed with which I administered the smacks, which now resounded less forcefully against the tensed muscles of her arse. I began the new count:

Smack

"One..."

Remarkably, she still didn't orgasm, using all of her energy to stop herself from surrendering to what she must surely have been teetering on the brink of by that stage. She was sobbing now, big fat anxious sobs as she buried her head against the wall and cried tears of bitter desperation.

On we went, until eventually:

Smack!

"Nineteen."

I paused before I got to the final number. God, she was so close, I could even see the juices from her sex running down the inside of her legs, mingling with the profuse amounts of sweat.

Smack!

"Twenty! But don't you dare orgasm yet!"

Still she held herself back, but I was feeling in a merciful mood as I grabbed her knickers and pulled them down, once more pulling them over her feet, allowing them to fall to the floor. Then I reached up and pulled the vibrator from her – it came easily enough, sliding gently out of her sopping wetness. It was soaking.

She collapsed forward in her bonds and let out a long, deep sigh of relief coupled with frustration – relief at having made it, achieved what I'd demanded of her, and frustration at being denied the orgasm she most desperately wanted after having had it building within her for so long.

"You've been a good girl," I told her gently as I stood again, still holding the wet vibrator. "And I'm very impressed. You're a good little slut, and now you're going to get your reward. Open your legs."

Despite how tired she must have been and how her muscles must have ached by now, she did as commanded. I looked into the camera, still running, still recording all of this. Placing one hand between the cheeks of her backside, I pulled one of them aside to create a gap and then pushed the vibrator against her, switching it to a higher setting. She spasmed with the surprise of both the vibrator's touch and where it was going, then cried out as I pushed the lubricated plastic against her tight little arsehole.

"Come on, don't tell me you've never had it up there before, you little slut," I told her. "You've had it everywhere..."

I pushed it further into her, twisting it first one way then the other, sliding it gently in and out as she began to try and move in rhythm with it, enjoying it, accepting it, her moans against the gag becoming more and more pleasured as I thrust it as deeply into her as I could push it...

Then pulled it out, and threw it to the floor, discarding it without even bothering to switch it off. She moaned in frustration once more and gave another anguished sob.

"Now you get your reward," I assured her, placing a hand between her legs and briefly massaging her, driving my fingers against her. But her pleasure was not the main reason for this – my hand came back sticky and wet, damp with her juices. I quickly undid the buttons of my jeans and tore them off, doing the same to my boxer shorts, using my wet and sticky hand to lubricate my stiff cock, which had been waiting for this all day. Even just touching myself briefly like that took me to the edge. When it was nice and slick and wet, I put my arms around her and guided my cock between the cheeks of her backside, pushing the tip of it against her moistened arsehole.

"I'm going to take you now like a proper little slut," I told her savagely. "Take you in the most degrading of ways, like the little porno slut you are. I'm going to fuck you up the arse, just like you deserve, like you want. Are you ready for this, my hot little whore?"

This was also a chance for her to say no. Had she shaken her head or given any indication then that she didn't want it, I would have released her, let her go.

She nodded vigorously. She wanted this. Oh yes, she wanted it – she wanted this so much she tried her hardest to push herself back against me, trying to slide herself onto my cock. Her binding made this impossible of course, but I didn't prolong the agony for her any further, thrusting forward and sliding up into her... Fucking hell she was tight. Tight and warm and wonderful... Oh God!

The force of my cock inside her pushed her upward and she cried out.

"Take it!" I shouted. "Take it you delicious little bitch, take it!"

She moaned in unison with my calls, deep, luscious moans of pleasure, her head thrown back as she called out, screamed almost, as loudly as she could against the gag. Harder and harder I pushed, slamming her again and again against the wall as I pushed into her, but she clearly didn't care, she was too lost in the waves of her rapidly building orgasm, the one I was finally going to allow her to achieve. I was already building toward my own such experience, the tightness of her rear hole bringing me so close to the edge...

"Look at the slut taking it!" I cried into the camera, still filming us as we fucked as though our lives depended on it. "She loves it, she fucking loves it... Ooooooooo FUCK!"

I came inside her, the pleasure running through my cock and indeed my entire body like nothing I had ever felt before. Just to make sure she got there I reached around with my hand and placed a rough finger on her clit, rubbing it furiously, and a moment or two later she came as well, screaming out for a long, long time before finally collapsing, exhausted, hanging by her bikini top, my slowly softening cock still warm inside her until I slowly pulled it out.

Exhausted from our efforts myself, I just about had the energy to reach up and unhook the bikini top from the hook, holding her as she collapsed back against me. I took her over to the sofa where we both sat, and undid the gag, allowing her to take deep, refreshing breaths. I then reached over and switched off the camera, our little movie complete.

"My God..." she said quietly, when she had gotten back some of her breath. Her hands were still tied – now together in her lap – by the top, and she was still blindfolded, but she turned to me and breathed:

"You're wonderful."

I leaned across and kissed her on the cheek, then rested my tired head on her shoulder.

"Yeah?" I replied. "Well, you're not so bad yourself..."



Neighbourly Relations



"Show me," I instructed her.

"I don't understand?"

"Your toys, show me."

She moved across to her wardrobe, and opening it crouched down, removing a shoebox from one corner, behind a row of her shoes. Opening it, she pulled out a mass of tissue paper, underneath which were concealed two sizeable vibrators, one pink, one green with gold trimmings, of all the lurid colours. She laid them on the bed next to her erotic books.

"Very thoroughly hidden."

She smiled proudly for a moment, before I added:

"Who were you hiding your shameful little secret from, you filthy little whore?"

"I..."

"I doubt anybody else ever comes here, and you know well enough what a slut you are... Are you just ashamed of your own yearning, so you like to try and hide it away?"

She said nothing, merely looking down at the floor. I grabbed the box, which she still held, from her, and placed the vibrators back inside it. I also added the books, and after a moment's consideration, picked up the spanking hairbrush from the table and placed that inside also, holding the now-full box under my arm.

"What...?"

"I'm confiscating these," I explained. "I don't want you having any fun on your own when I'm not here. From now on you cum as and when I say you can, and you won't be a filthy little bitch playing with yourself all on your own, understand me?"

Just for the briefest of instants, it seemed she might refuse and argue. And that was fine – I'd had fun, so had she, we could live the rest of our lives without ever mentioning this day again or even exchanging another word, having enjoyed the game we'd been playing that afternoon. But that moment of protest passed, and she nodded.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I understand."

"Excellent."

Now for the moment of truth. Did she want to continue the game? Was this going to be a one-off, or a regular thing?

"I expect to see you at my door at... ten o'clock, tomorrow morning," I instructed her, my heart pumping as the thought of having such a wonderful liaison continue for longer ran through me. How to run this? How to control it? I was just making it up as I went along.

"You will present yourself in the shortest skirt you own," I went on. "And high heels. A low-cut top – I want to start seeing more of you, literally. Oh, and no knickers again – I want you nice and bare and ready under there, in case I decide to get right down to the skin next time."

That little prospect certainly seemed to entice her, and she nodded much more vigorously this time.

"Do you understand?" I asked.

"Yes. I'll be there."

Result!

"Good. I'll see you then."

And then I was gone, out of the door and back up to the stairs to my own flat, not even thinking until I got back inside about what my neighbours might have thought had any of them seen me carrying a shoebox filled with various erotic novels, two sex toys and a hairbrush with me. Mind you, I suspect most of them – the male ones, anyway – would have been rather jealous had they known that I now had Jane Stickson from No. 9 as a... Well, what was she? Girlfriend? Lover? Sex slave? Fuck toy?

Goodness only knew exactly what the full nature of our newfound 'understanding' would turn out to be. But I was going to have a lot of fun finding out – that was for sure.