tagMatureMy New Neighbour, At Home

My New Neighbour, At Home

byAaronAardvark©

Just what had my young, handsome new neighbour, James, meant when he had whispered, "fuck you again, soon, slut," leaving me totally exhausted and, otherwise, blissfully satisfied. Sometimes, as I pondered his intent, I became angry; how dare he call me a slut, he was just as bad, banging away at an old and ugly neighbour following the least of provocations. More often I became really moist and had to finger myself or, if I could hold myself back until the kids were out, unlock the big powerful vibrator from my cabinet of treasures and spend a long session writhing on the bed. But, whatever he meant, he had promised to fuck me again and soon: it was true that, in his hands I was a slut, whatever he wanted was his for the asking, or better still the taking. I really did wonder where I would draw the line with him and I hoped he'd investigate diligently.

Whilst I heard much hammering, sawing and drilling from James's flat, and noted that the flickering candle was replaced by the stability of electricity, I did not actually see him for several days. It was Thursday morning when the lift doors opened to reveal James. "My place, two o'clock, dressed as you were last Friday," and as I stepped out, wrestling my shopping behind me, he glided past, closed the door and was gone.

'The bloody cheek,' I thought, 'what if I'm busy?' But at the same time I knew that my nipples had just stiffened, my pussy was beginning to flow freely and that I was not at all busy: I needed a bath, I had to wash my hair, oh my God I had to shave my pussy, it was getting a bit stubbly, should I rinse my bum out, were those clothes clean and fresh?" I had a million things to do, at least the kids were all out for the day. That was another thing, I had 'forgotten' to mention my kids to James, I was going to have to tell him; he'd see, or more likely hear, them soon enough. I was in a tizz, my daughter had more sense; the truth was I had fallen deeply in lust with James.

It was five minutes to two, my hair was long, lustrous and sporting a coquettish red bow, my teeth clean and breath fresh, my lips coated with just a trifle too much lipstick, my eye shadow a shade too bright and my mascara coated a little too thickly. My nails, fingers and toes, shone vivid purple, three coats that had taken. My tits were almost falling out of the damn bra, how had I managed so easily the other night. I had rolled my skirt once around its belt so that it was even shorter than before, and I had replaced the sheer black stockings with very fine fishnets. I could barely walk in these heels. My sex and bum had been fresh but I was already dribbling, I could feel slick lubricant slithering slowly down my left thigh. I wiped my juices away with a damp flannel, made one last check in the mirror, yes I looked like a slut, and tottered out of my front door.

Two o'clock, on the dot, I knocked and James opened it so quickly that he must have been stood next to it waiting. He blocked the door, lifted my skirt, checked I was panty less and only then said, "come inside." My areolae crinkled, my teats stiffened, my knees went weak, my juices coursed and my pulse raced as he led me to a tastefully furnished room. All sandal wood, cream and peach, not what I had expected. There were two very low arm chairs, each with an elaborate footstool, all covered in cream hemp with a simple, peach painted, inverted wooden box placed between them, a large cotton rug laid over a polished wooden floor, heavy cream curtains made from thick hemp lined with black felt, a translucent shop dummy that doubled as a stand lamp, a powerful hi-fi with large floor mounted speakers and, under the windows, shelving holding about a thousand records. On the wall, behind the speakers and facing the chairs was a huge mirror, at least five feet square, framed like a picture. That was it, that was literally everything in the room. "Take a seat, I'll get you a drink, wine or tea?"

"Uh, tea please." As I sat in the chair I realised that however I positioned myself my suspenders were going to show and that mirror had to be angled ever so slightly, because if I didn't keep my knees firmly together I could see up my own skirt. I rotated the chair a little and sat down. No television, 'was there one somewhere else or did he not own one', I could not imagine life without television: entertainer, educator, child-minder, drowner-out of noisy neighbours. The wooden box was not inverted as I had thought, its top was a lid: inside were several text books, laid open at various pages, a sheaf of notes and a stack of photocopies. Before I had arrived James had been working, perhaps, because lying on the top of the pile was the photograph of me lying on the bed stark naked, with my legs up in the air spread akimbo: the fink had stolen it. I hastily shut the box; that bastard, if I mentioned the photograph he'd know how nosy I had been and if I didn't, well he'd still have the damn thing.

James was gone a while before he returned carrying a silver tray holding a round brown teapot in a brightly striped woolly cosy, two incongruously large china mugs bearing the same coat of arms and a simple jug, sugar bowl and tea strainer, together with some teaspoons, all also in silver. "It's a scientific fact, the Brown Bessie is the almost perfect tea pot: my mum made the cosy, she's as nutty as a fruit cake now but she can still knit and the rest of the set her's, really," he grinned as he placed the tray on the lid of the box and enquired if I wanted milk and sugar. This was all too nice, a plate of biscuits would have been nicer, but it all was very nice and very, very formal and, somehow, menacing; a little shiver ran up and down my spine. "Now tell me Judy, exactly what would you like me to do to you this afternoon? No shyness now, be explicit, oh yes, and be specific otherwise you may end up doing things that you didn't expect to."

"First, I've something to tell you, about me that is."

He interrupted me, "no Judy. Pleasure first, then we'll consider boring old facts. You're plainly undressed for sex so simply expose your heart's desires and we will see if they can be realised." I gulped tea, slurping noisily. "Some more tea Judy? You're obviously rather thirsty." As he poured he admired my nails and my hair and told me how wonderful I smelt, "a mixture of lavender and lust. I long to kiss your silken lips, to maul those malleable mounds, to tweak your engorged teats and to lick your slick slot, tickling that delicate little bud with the tip of my tongue until you squirm and squeal, but first tell me, what do you like? I'd hate to miss out one of your favourites."

Perhaps for the first time ever in my life I was struck dumb, I could not marshal my thoughts; what to tell, what to hold back for the present? My ex and I had tried some pretty kinky things and I had discovered that I enjoyed lots of activities that most people considered to be rather unusual or simply, downright disgusting. James was not going to be shocked easily, but his reaction to some of the magazines, particularly those involving peeing, proved that he had his limits. "I like to be kissed all over, every bit of me, until I'm begging to be screwed. Then you shaft me really slowly, pausing each time I come so that I have to wait a while for the next orgasm. Whilst I'm waiting you must suck my nipples really hard, slide a finger in and out of my bottom, bite my breasts till I cry out, be a little rough." 'Were did those last bits come from? I never meant to tell him those, well not just yet.'

"Ok," said James, thoughtfully, "now stand in front of the mirror and strip off; lets see those beautiful boobs bounce and bobble, those succulent plump white thighs shiver and quiver and that big white bottom joggle and wobble." It's one thing to shed garments in the heat of passion and another to stand in front of a mirror and slowly strip for a man whose eyes are already burning holes through your attire. I stood and hesitated. I unbuttoned my blouse turned with my back to James and began to slide it off, but of course he could see everything in the mirror anyway, silly me. I unclipped my bra, and flipped it away catching my breasts in my hands so that James could not yet see the wrinkled brown areolae nor the swollen red numbs which they encircled. I turned to face him and slowly slid my hands away, smoothing them over my sides and slipping my fingers under the waist of my skirt so that I could flip it down over my hips. So there I am, standing in front of a huge mirror wearing; red suspenders, black stockings, high black heels, a red bow and a grin like a Cheshire cat.

"Give us a twirl." First, I comply, then I strut over to James, lean forwards and wobble my oversized orbs in his face, five foot six and a half with 36DDs, not bad really. Whilst he is distracted I undo his pants, slip the elastic of his underwear under his balls and kneel down to suck the head of his stiff member, after I have rolled his foreskin over the head of his now twitching shaft.

"Wan'na show me your bedroom?" I cooed, seductively before I took his helmet in my mouth. Whilst I silently pleaded with him, 'please show me your bedroom,' I recalled a little poem I wrote once, 'I'm burning with fire you fucking freak, my cunt's brimming like a swollen creek, your silken lips have released my beast, so fuck me tame, at the very least. Ram and slam me, shaft and grind, fill and drill me 'till I've no mind, then pump me full of thick white seed, show me you know just what I need.' I wrote that for my ex, before his tumble, but I meant it then and doubly today.

"It's this way." James replied as he grabbed my hair, pulled me away from his cock and dragged me, crawling, behind him. He had me figured, I love dominant; as he tugged me along my pussy was oozing that slick, thick, white, slime that women secrete when they need to be pounded. His bedroom was just as much a revelation as his living room. In the middle, a big brass bedstead with a white linen duvet, under this, if you're wondering, crisp cream cotton sheets. Behind the bed was a shelf with a clock and a reading lamp on it and hung above it another huge mirror. Along the wall, opposite the windows, fitted cupboards, and under the windows a bookcase with, oh..., a thousand books on it. Finally, opposite the bed and the mirror, next to the door, a simple but comfortable armchair.

James disrobed with one hand as he held me down by the hair with the other, forcing me to kneel opposite his straining tool. I though he was going to make me suck him but once naked he dragged me onto the bed and began to kiss every tiny bit of me, starting by sucking my fingers and licking my palms. I never realised quite how sensitive everything can be; licking the crooks of my elbows sent tiny jolts of electricity through my pussy, whilst licking my armpits caused it to slop and squelch quite audibly. I melted when he kissed my lips, first forcing his tongue deep into my mouth then gripping my tongue between his teeth, and I dissolved when he went on to suck and nibble my ears and neck. Toe sucking, licking the crooks of my knees and my sensitive inner thighs followed this, his tongue working up to my labia and then stopping short. I needed him right then and there of course but he ignored me, rolled me over onto my belly and began to work on my back and buttocks. As his tongue wiggled up and down my crack I was no longer his slut but his abject slave, there was nothing I would not do for this man. He flipped me back onto my back and licked my belly before going to work on my, by now, oh so sensitive nipples. He licked, he sucked, he nibbled, he bit; I moaned, I sighed, I gasped and I cried but all with desire: 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, pound me remorselessly, piston me like a steam engine', my head screamed. Of course he did no such thing, he spread my legs and began to work on my pussy; fingering my now gaping slot, licking my clit and sucking upon my labia. He provided anything and everything but an orgasm. I was dribbling, I was oozing, my pussy was making little farting noises. Then, and only then, did he shaft me and I came with his very first thrust, crying out with exaltation. A second climax built rapidly, but as it was about to break and wash me through with bliss he withdrew and bit one of my nipples viciously.

"Ouch," I screamed; that had really hurt. He resumed shafting me with long slow thrusts, withdrawing completely at the end of each stroke. As my desire grew he went more and more slowly until he was barely moving, just rolling his pelvic bone gently over my clit: then an unexpected burst of rapid humping and I exploded. Damn him, he left me hanging again, there right on the edge of multiple orgasms. He grabbed my hair, pulled me into a sitting position and slammed his tumescent tool into my mouth.

"Taste yourself slut." He rammed two fingers into my slurping love tunnel, rotated them, pulled his cock away and pushed those sopping digits into my mouth, wiping them over my tongue. Then he shoved me back and resumed spearing me until I came for the third time. Once more, he stopped, he wriggled his shoulders behind my knees and pushed my legs high in the air exposing the full length of my hungry crack. This time he alternated between circling my clit with a finger and thrusting a thumb in and out of my arse. I was on fire.

"Make me come, please make me come, please just let me come." He doubled me over and thrust deep inside slamming my clitty with his pelvis. For the fourth time I moaned with delight as an orgasm swept through me, for the fourth time I built to a second climax and for the fourth time I was denied this second dose of bliss. Alarmingly, instead of diminishing in intensity with repetition, as was usual, my climaxes were getting bigger every time. Ten times over he made me come and then tormented me before he finally treated me to a prolonged bout of uninterrupted thrusting, his down strokes timed carefully to coincide with my orgasms, which rolled one into another, I didn't even notice his release but when he was finished with me I was practically unconscious. As I came to the smells of sweat and semen were strong in the air, my thighs were sticky, my nipples were sore, my arse was burning, if I'd run a marathon I'd have been in better shape.

"Well slut, that's what you asked for, now what was it you were so desperate to tell me?"

"I've got kids," I panted, "three teenage kids."

"Then we'd better fuck at my place," no reaction, no surprise, he did not seem to care. "Suck me hard again and I'll do you doggy in front of the mirror, I like that, and you owe me a climax or two."

"You can fuck my arse if you like," I volunteered bravely, it was, after all, a little sore but I was desperate to please.

"Thanks, but no thanks, your pussy's fine with me."

And that's what we did before we had our shower.

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