My Neighbour

This, my latest story, is being put in this section because while it contains the illusion of coercion I think it is fairly obviously really a light story of consensual BDSM.

Don't hold it against me. Even evil sadists like me feel a little romantic sometimes. :-)

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My Neighbour

A few houses down the street from me lives a nice young married couple, and their kids. I got to know the family a little, socially. It’s a friendly neighbourhood. I’m willing to admit that I noticed the wife, who I will call Heather for the purposes of anonymity, with a little more interest than I have in all my neighbours. She’s a cute little blonde number, and you can tell she knows, and enjoys, the fact that she gets a lot of attention from any men who see her. A lovely body, with delicious legs that go all the way up, and a charmingly outgoing, flirty attitude. Everybody likes her.

About a year ago, I was out walking my dog and I was walking by her house as she came home from grocery shopping. She got out of the car, saw me, and smiled, calling out a hello.

“Do you need any help?” I offered.

I’m a nice guy, honest. I would have offered even if she weren’t such a cutie.

“Thanks, that’d be great,” she said, flashing one of her sunshine smiles, so I tied my dog’s leash to her mailbox and helped her take the grocery bags into her kitchen. In this story I will give myself the name Miles. When I was done helping her with the groceries she offered me an iced tea, which I accepted.

“Miles, do you by any chance know anything about computers?” she asked, as we made a little small talk.

“Sure. Something you need help with?”

It turned out she was having trouble with her broadband. I said I just needed to put my dog back in my yard and feed him, but then I could come back and help her out with her computer troubles. Her thanks seemed heartfelt. I told her I was glad to help.

And that good deed is why, a year later, as I type this, she is kneeling under my desk wearing nothing but a pair of sexy black stiletto-heeled shoes, with my cock buried all the way down her throat.

I shouldn’t have installed spyware on her computer, to monitor her activities. I know I shouldn’t have. But it seemed like a minor bit of naughtiness. Just seeing what she got up to. I wondered if she watched porn during the day, or something like that. It was just curiousity.

I got more than I bargained for, obviously. That’s why her head is now bobbing in my lap.

Turns out poor little Heather had fantasies. Dark ones. She looked at rough BDSM porn all the time. And searched for stories about women being raped and abused and treated like whores and blackmailed and tortured and degraded and all kinds of lovely things like that.

When she joined a forum on a website called rppstories.com, that showcased rape and torture erotic fiction I couldn’t help myself. I joined too. With my experience in kink (which is considerable) and goofy-friendly way, I quickly made myself at home, and befriended her. One newbie to another. Her username was Willing Victim (I still chuckle over that). Mine was Riddle.

She was obsessed with being throat-fucked, and I’m obsessed with throat-fucking, so we complemented each other nicely. We sent each other private messages, discussing her fantasies, as well as joking and chatting openly on the board. She discussed her dissatisfaction with her vanilla husband, and how she was coming to realise that she wanted and needed a sex life in which she was used and abused, but how her husband could never be that for her, and how trapped she was beginning to feel. I talked to her about all the degrading and humiliating things I would like to do her. She loved it, and said she wished I lived closer so we could meet, but I knew that she felt safe, saying that to someone who supposedly lived so far away. (I had pretended to be an American living in Britain.) Eventually she confessed that she was considering actively seeking an affair, to fulfil her needs, but that her husband could never find out. I encouraged her. By now we were pretty good friends. I told her that she should try to find what she needed to be happy.

Why hadn’t I just said who I was and played with her? Well, she said something on the forum about wanting to be outsmarted, and it had given me an idea.

Right now she has switched to lovingly licking my balls while she strokes my dick with her soft hands. I think it’s safe to say I outsmarted her pretty good.

She mentioned that she had taken some dirty pictures of herself. Her whole body in sexy lingerie, and close-ups of her cunt (with and without fingers and dildos stretching it). She was thinking of using them online at some kind of BDSM personals site, to try to attract a man to give her what she wanted; to use her, discretely, as his personal cumbucket.

I asked her to show them to me. Since she didn’t know me, and I supposedly didn’t know her, she didn’t see the harm. She loved teasing me. It was fun for us both. She e-mailed me the pictures. I stared at them. She was even prettier in nothing. Her legs and ass and tits had me wild. And her sweet little pink pussy just looked like the gateway to paradise. But it wasn't what the pictures showed that made me as a hard as an iron bar – it was what they represented.

I simply couldn’t believe my luck.

A day or two after getting the pictures I sent her the PM that I had been writing and rewriting in my head ever since she mentioned incriminating pictures.

Thanks again for those lovely pictures. You have such a lovely cunt, and you looked like such a dirty little whore in those slutty outfits. Beautiful.

What you said about wanting to be outsmarted, on the forum a while ago, has gotten me thinking. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I’m only pretending not to know who you are? What if I knew you, and your husband? The e-mails and pictures you’ve sent would make the perfect blackmail material, wouldn’t they? I could use them to force you to become my own personal whore.

Make you come visit me in the afternoons, if I lived close enough, and crawl around naked and suck my dick for hours. Make you kneel, naked, legs spread and my cum all over your face and tell my video camera what a filthy, cum-drinking, cock-worshipping bitch you are. How happy you are to be my slave. How happy you are that I own your cunt.

I’d have parties where you’d be the naked waitress and blowjob dispenser. And everything would be videotaped and photographed. More and more damning evidence. Pulling you deeper and deeper into slavery. Grinding your body, your mind, your soul into the mud. Degrading you. Making dignity a distant memory for you.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

Later that day, I received her reply, which was pretty much what I expected.

OMG! I would love that so much. It would be a dream. An utterly filthy, delicious wet dream! You always have the sexiest ideas. :-)

Let me know if you'd like anything special for the next pictures and I'll grab my digital camera and spread my legs.

You deserve a reward for making my pussy quiver like this ...

*kiss*

And I thought to myself, blackmail is wrong. Sexual blackmail is rape. But she did say she'd enjoy it. She did talk about how she needed it. And I could always say I was kidding, or misunderstood. Say she knew it was me all along if she freaked out right away and went to her husband or the police or whatever. Plenty of evidence to support that she literally asked for it. Who was to say she wouldn't be pleased like she said she would be (when she thought I was safely half a world away from making good on my words...), after all?

I debated with myself. Back and forth. I may have agonised over it for as much as ten seconds.

If you are wondering what I decided, I direct your attention to the tongue that is licking the head of my dick.

The next day I knocked on her door.

When she answered, she smiled that sexy smile.

“Hello, Miles. Good to see you. What's up?”

“Can I talk to you?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“I mean can I come in?”

She seemed completely at ease.

“No problem,” she said, ushering me inside, “come on in.”

When we sat down on the sofa, and after I had refused a drink, she asked me what was up. I looked into her eyes. For the first time she started to seem nervous. I suppose my staring was inappropriate for a neighbour.

“What's on your mind, Miles?” she asked, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

“What's on yours, Willing Victim?” I asked, with a voice that didn't betray anything.

She froze. Her breath quickened. She seemed unable to look at me.

“What did you call me?” she asked quietly, immediately timid.

“I called you Willing Victim. I know you, Heather. I know you well. I told you once on the forum that the anonymity of internet friendships lead to a surprising openness.”

I could see her hands begin to shake.

“You're Riddle,” she said.

“Yes. Hello.”

There was silence. It stretched on and on. Finally, she looked at me and smiled.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

“This is a strange coincidence,” she said, laughing brightly, like it was an amusing joke.

“No, it isn't,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, still smiling.

“I monitor your internet activity. It started as a joke. A bit of curiousity.”

She looked at me seriously.

“That is serious,” she said.

She seemed to think hard for a minute.

“I think you should go. I need to think.”

“I don't want to, Heather.”

She stood up.

“Don't make me call the police,” she said.

“Don't make me use the pictures,” I said.

For the second time, she froze in shock. I just looked up at her and smiled.

“You wouldn't” she managed, weakly.

“If I'm arrested? What do you think the authorities will make of the e-mails and pictures?”

I was smirking by this point. She looked at me.

“You want to blackmail me, don't you? Like you said in that message ... Oh God ...” she almost moaned.

“Like I said in that message that made your pussy quiver,” I said.

She stared at me.

“You are going to make me your whore, aren't you?”

“Yes,” I said.

She looked at me. Staring, her face blank. When she finally spoke it was as if she were in a trance, and the words came slowly, haltingly. I was sure that she had thought them many times but had never before dared to speak them aloud.

“I don't have any choice. No choice. None. You're going to use me ... and ... and degrade me ... and fuck me and own me ... and ... drown me in your cum and treat me like nothing but a dirty whore ... whose only use is to please your cock ... whenever and however you want ...”

“Yes. Call me Master.”

She looked at me and smiled. The brightest, warmest, happiest smile I had ever seen on her face.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Anything you say.”

And she took off her dress. And she took off her bra. And she slipped out of her panties. I sat and watched. She stood in front of me, naked and happy and beautiful.

“Does this whore's body please you, Master?” she asked.

“You have a lovely body, slut. I'm sure I'm going to enjoy owning it.”

I smiled at her and she beamed back. Her expression turned back to a sexy, sultry, fuck-me-all-night look.

“Master, may this whore PLEASE suck your cock? Please Master!”

I nodded, and she was on her knees between my legs, rubbing her face against my crotch. She actually pulled the zipper down with her teeth, and then her hands were in my trousers and then my cock was in the air, but only for a moment. No kissing or licking or stroking. She shoved it straight down her throat, so hard and deep that she gagged hard on it, but she still waited a few seconds before pulling back. And then she drove forward again. She didn't use her hand at all. It took longer that way. She made me come with her lips and tongue and throat. She sucked me off like a slave, and she swallowed my cum like it was the nicest present she'd ever had.

She sat back on her heels, kneeling naked before me, out of breath. She breathed deeply, once, twice, and spoke.

“Thank you, Master. Thank you for taking possession of your whore. Thank you for letting me suck your beautiful cock and letting me drink your delicious, hot cum. Thank you, Master, for finding me.”

“I am going to degrade you and humiliate you, slut. I am going to make you feel more mortified than you feel in those dreams where you are back in High School, naked in the cafeteria and everybody laughs. Would you like that?”

She shivered with excitement.

“What pleases my Master pleases this slut. I am for your pleasure, Master.”

“I am going to fuck every hole in your whore's body over and over and over, for hours. You are going to be well-used, slut.”

She just grinned. It was so sexy.

“Yes please. Master.”

My cock lurched. Even so soon after such a strong orgasm. She was just so sexy. This was just such a dream.

She saw it, raised an eyebrow, and leaned her head forward again. She kissed the tip lovingly, and then leaned back.

“Which of your new slave's holes do you want to break in next, Master?”

“I seem to recall that you love to be pounded in the ass?”

“Oh yes, Master. Please use my ass like you paid for it. Pound it so hard that I scream. Please Master.”

And I did.

That was a few months ago. They have been very, very interesting. I'd love to tell you about them, but right now I am going to lean back and close my eyes and pump my cum down my lovely slave's throat. Maybe some other time.

God she's good at this ...

	February 05, 2012, 05:45:42 PM Login with username, password and session length

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