Forcing My Neighbour

He is around thirty, about ten years younger than me. He and his girlfriend moved in a year ago and they seem to be very happy together. He is good-looking in a studious kind of way; his face is boyish and younger-looking than his age.

I first began to notice him when he started exercising in their living room in the mornings. From the bathroom of my house, I can see into that room, and one morning I happened to notice him come into the room wearing a bathrobe. He took it off and underneath it, he was naked. He sat on the floor and began doing sit-ups. His body was not stunningly well-formed, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. He has a lovely ass, neat and round, that juts out at the back, and just the right amount of chest hair. The hair on his head is cropped very short. He walks like a dancer and stands very straight, his bottom sticking out behind him. When he had finished exercising, he stood up and walked over to the bookcase, seemingly unconscious of the fact that he was still naked and that I could see him clearly. His penis was dangling between his legs, swollen and heavy. He selected a book from the case and walked out of view. A few moments later, I heard the shower in their bathroom starting to run. It ran for a long time. I know what he's doing, I thought, and the idea excited me. I was certain that he was masturbating in the shower, and I had a brief mental image of his naked body under the water as he hauled on his erect penis, closing his eyes and sighing. It excited me so much that I had to unbutton my jeans and stroke myself until I came - something I never do. Not in the daytime, anyway.

After that, he made a habit of doing his sit-ups in that room, naked. I wondered if he knew that I could see him and was he doing it to excite me. Whenever we spoke to each other - occasional doorstep chats about the roof, or that day's news - he was friendly but also clearly rather shy. Yet I had the strong impression, when we spoke, that his gaze was taking me in, that he was wondering about my body and what it looked and felt and tasted like. But perhaps that was just wishful thinking, for it was certainly true that I was beginning to spend a lot of time wondering about his.

When I was in the bath I would often drift off into a reverie about him. I had a fantasy about bathing him and washing every single nook and cranny of his naked body, making him completely clean, and then having him enter me, pushing him still wet on his back on the bed and sitting astride him, not bothering to undress myself but sitting on his cock and forcing him to fuck me. Once, a couple of hours after a particularly lurid fantasy on this subject, I happened to meet him just outside the house as I was leaving and he was returning. I blushed crimson, but I don't think he noticed.

I wondered if he would like my body. I am proud of it, although it's showing its age by now. My breasts are still firm, and I keep fit by running. My hair has already gone grey, and I keep it cut short, which I think makes me look focused and intelligent. I too liked to walk around the house naked, when I was alone, but there was not much point in it, because although you can see into his house from ours, it's much more difficult to see into ours from his. I decided that I would have to find another way of communicating with him.

So one day around lunchtime, I noticed that he had entered the living room and was doing his exercises naked, as usual. Then, when he was finished, he walked out of view, but this time I didn't hear the shower. I waited for ten minutes, but still didn't hear it. I went downstairs, opened my front door and knocked on his. I waited, but there was no answer. I knocked again, but still he didn't answer. So I gave up, and went back into the house, frustrated.

A couple of minutes later, my doorbell rang. I answered it and there he was, standing in his doorway, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His face was slightly red and he seemed a little out of breath.

"Oh, hi," I said. "Sorry to bother you."

"Not at all," he said politely. He's always polite.

"I was just wondering if you had had a chance to look at that wall we were talking about," I said. "The one that's common to both of us. I'm thinking of getting a man in to rebuild it."

"Oh," he said, after a slight pause. "No, I haven't looked at it, but I will."

"Would it be okay if I popped in and had a look at it now?" I asked. "It's just that I have this guy's number and I want to get him while he's available."

He paused again, just for a second. "Sure," he said, and smiled. I shut my front door and got over the railing between our two front paths. He led me into the house, shutting the door behind me.

We went through to the back and out into his garden. It was a grey, overcast day. We had some inconsequential discussion about the guttering, and then he clearly felt that the conversation was over. We went back in.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked. I said I would and thanked him. He made himself busy putting on the kettle and taking mugs out of the cupboard. I leaned against the kitchen units and watched him.

"Oh, I thought you might like to know," I said with a smile, "just for future reference, you do know that I can see into your living room from my bathroom, don't you?"

He froze. There was a long moment. I found that I liked how uncomfortable he was.

"I don't mind," I went on. "In fact I like it."

He unfroze, and went on making the tea, slowly, not looking at me.

"Do you do that so that I'll watch you?" I asked him. "You want me to see you naked, is that it?"

"Yes," he said quietly, still not daring to look at me. I walked up behind him and I stood very close to him. I could feel the heat of his body through the thin t-shirt and his sweatpants. He didn't move. I put my hands on his hips, and still he didn't move. I reached around in front of him and slid my hands beneath the waist of his sweatpants, and I realised that he wasn't wearing anything underneath them. His breathing was shallow and rapid. I slid my hands further down until I could touch his penis. It was hard and warm. He gasped.

"You know your bathroom is right next door to my landing," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"Do you masturbate in the shower?" I whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he breathed.

"Do you think about me while you're doing it?"

"Yes."

I moved my hands around inside his sweatpants until I was caressing his tight little bottom. He gasped again and shut his eyes.

"Is there a room in the house we can go to?" I whispered to him.

"Come with me," he whispered back, and he reached out a hand. I withdrew my hands from his sweatpants, and took it. He led me upstairs. I found myself wondering why we were whispering. After all, our respective partners weren't at home.

He took me into their spare room, a brightly lit, sparsely furnished room with a kingsize bed. He shut the door behind us and turned to look at me.

I thought how handsome he was, still slim and boyish. I found I had no great desire to make love to him, not in the usual way. I couldn't see myself underneath him, receiving him.

He was gazing at me with longing, his mouth open slightly, his red lips parted. I felt incredibly powerful. I was older than him, I was an experienced woman, good-looking, professional, confident. I didn't need lessons in love from him. I reflected that I could probably do whatever I wanted with him.

"Take off all your clothes," I said softly, "and lie on your belly."

He blushed scarlet. Silly to blush, I thought, I already know what he looks like naked. He pulled off his t-shirt and kicked off his trainers, then took off his socks, and finally he slid down his sweatpants. He was indeed nude underneath them. He got onto the bed and lay down, his arms folded under his head, trembling a little.

He was so lovely lying there, this naked young man on the bed in the daylight, that I almost wanted to take off my clothes and lie down with him and let him explore my body. But what I really wanted to do was explore his, test him, use him, see how far he could go. I sat on the bed next to him and stroked his naked bottom, my fingers brushing his pale skin, feeling the soft downy hairs. I don't agree with the Hollywood fashion for men to have hairless bodies. I like them to be natural. He sighed as I touched him. I leaned over and kissed his bare, pink buttocks each in turn, and then experimentally I put out my tongue and dragged it over his skin. He shivered and breathed deeply. We both knew that what we were doing was forbidden, that I had a partner and so did he, but I couldn't help myself. I licked the pale flesh of his bottom, then I took his buttocks in my hands and gently pulled them apart, revealing his anus. He breathed faster. This was perhaps the most intimate I had ever been with a man, and I hardly knew him.

"You like people playing with your bum?" I murmured.

"Yes," he said thickly.

"I can tell," I said. I was marvelling at my own recklessness. "Have you ever had anyone go up there?"

"Yes."

"A girl? Or a man?"

"A girl," he said, his face buried in his folded arms. "A couple of times."

"Have you ever done that to a girl?"

"Yes."

"How many times? Once or twice or a few times?"

"A few times."

"Have you thought about doing it with me?"

He didn't say anything for a long time, then he whispered "Yes".

I wondered what it would be like. I imagined it as a wrestling match, him forcing himself on me, holding me down on the ground and stripping me, then rolling me over and getting onto my hips and forcibly sodomizing me. I felt excited at the thought, though I knew it was not something I would ever allow to happen.

"Let me tell you something," I said to him quietly, "that will never happen." I reached between his thighs, and he lifted his hips off the bed slightly and whimpered. I grasped his swollen penis and stroked it. He sighed. I let go of his penis.

"Wait there," I told him. "Do not move." I left the room and went down to the bathroom, where I dampened some toilet paper and put soap on it. Then I returned to the bedroom. He was still lying on his stomach on the bed, watching me nervously.

I carefully wiped the damp, soapy toilet paper between his buttocks and he closed his eyes and gasped. I knew how humiliating this must have been for him. I was still fully dressed, after all, and I was treating him less like a lover than like a son. When I was satisfied that his arse was clean, I threw the damp toilet paper on the floor. Then I leaned over and put my tongue between his naked buttocks. He stiffened and grabbed the sheet. I licked him, dragging my tongue over the pink, sensitive skin. He went "Oooh!" God, it was exciting. I was getting wet, but I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of entering me.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked him, looking up his naked back. He turned his head to me slightly.

"Oh God," he muttered. "Please."

"Tell me what you want me to do," I said, smiling, enjoying my power. "You want me to go in your arse, is that it?"

"Yes," he gasped.

"Say it."

"Oooh...I want you to go in my arse." Hearing him say it made me want it, so much. I got off the bed and I took off my fleece, my t-shirt and my jeans. In my bra and panties, I got back on the bed again and I reached into the pocket of my fleece. I took out my vibrator and held it up before him. "Oh no," he gasped.

"I came prepared," I said with a smile. "First we need lubrication. Get on your back."

His face pink, he rolled onto his back and looked up at me helplessly. I got astride his chest and moved up so that my bottom was over his face. Then I sat on his face, and he gave a muffled moan. His hands reached out blindly and he caressed my torso.

I turned on the vibrator. It whirred in my hand. I pulled the fabric of my panties aside, and I was so wet that I had no difficulty slipping the vibrator into me. It was fantastic, to be sitting on the boy's face and pleasuring myself at the same time. He didn't even have the pleasure of being able to use his tongue on me - my panties were in the way. In a few minutes I was having an orgasm, gasping and stroking my nipples inside my bra. I felt my wetness flooding over the vibrator, soaking my panties. I took it out and turned it off, and the wave ebbed. My knees slightly weak, I got off him. His face was red and glistening with sweat and my moisture. He was staring at me with a mixture of fear and longing.

"Kneel, and put your hands behind your back," I said. He got up and did so, turning to face away from me, his hands behind his back, his naked arse presented to me. I took the cord from a bathrobe hanging on the door and tied his hands behind him. Then I took the vibrator and turned it on again. I touched it to the skin between his buttocks and he cried "OOOH! NO!" His face, pressed against the bedsheet, was contorted with desire and anguish. I couldn't stand it any longer, I had to enter him, to see him squeal and lose control as I violated him. I pushed the tip of the vibrator into the small black hole of his anus and he struggled. I slapped him on the bottom, and he cried out, but stopped struggling. I pushed harder, and it sank into him. "Oh please!" he sobbed. "Please! Please, no!" But he made no move to escape.

"Does it hurt?" I asked gently.

"Yes," he moaned.

"Much?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Oh Jesus - please, you...you need to go in further..."

"Like this?" I asked, and I leaned with some force on the throbbing base of the vibrator. It sank another couple of inches into him and his mouth opened wide in pain and shock. He gave an agonised moan, his slim body arching, the lean muscles rippling in his arms and legs and chest. "Oh my God!" he gasped. His cock, sticking out beneath his belly, was hard. I took it in one hand and pulled on it, then I carefully pumped the vibrator in and out of his arse with the other hand. He buried his face in the sheet and squealed, his whole body shaking. I began to pump the vibrator slowly in and out of the naked young man's arse, while jerking him off with my other hand.

"Come for me," I said softly, as I buggered him. "Come on, let go."

"It's so good," he sobbed into the sheet. I imagined how he must be feeling, to be seduced by your neighbour and not given what you wanted, but tied up and buggered instead, and to enjoy it, worst of all...His pretty little bottom was split by the white rod going in and out of it, and his cock was slippery and glistening. I sank the vibrator into him and he screamed, coming lavishly over the sheet, his legs giving way so that he fell prone and his buttocks were squeezed around the shaft of the vibrator, making him come some more. I was merciless, I didn't pull out of him, I held him down and kept fucking his arse even as he thrashed nude on the bed, begging me to stop. I grabbed him by the back of the neck and wiped his face in the puddle of his own semen. We fought, he kicking and trying to escape his buggering, me trying to prolong it, but in the end he stopped fighting and lay still on his stomach, his chest heaving, his face pouring with sweat. I had won.I turned off the vibrator and pulled it out of his arse. He whimpered.

"That was lovely," I said, and I meant it. "I may call round again some time. I hope you'll be ready." I put my street clothes back on. He just lay face down, nude in the light from the window, his hands still tied behind his back. I took my vibrator, wrapped the damp toilet paper around it and slipped it into my fleece pocket. Then I went downstairs and left his house and went back into mine.

I went straight to my bedroom, where I stripped naked and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, smiling with triumph. I stroked myself until I came, stifling my moans by stuffing my t-shirt into my mouth. Then I had a quick shower, got dressed, and went about my business.

A few days later, the sun was shining so hard that I thought I might take the opportunity to sunbathe. I went out into my back garden in a shirt and a denim skirt, carrying a chair and some newspapers. I sat in the heat, reading the newspapers, feeling the sun playing on me. It was very hot. I glanced around, and when I was satisfied that nobody could see, I took off my shirt and skirt. That was much better. I read the papers from cover to cover, wearing only my bra and panties.

When I had finished, I was very thirsty. I scooped up the papers and my outer clothes, and walked across the grass back into the cool interior of the house. I put my outer clothes and the papers on the kitchen table, and poured myself a tall glass of cool water from the bottle in the fridge. I drank it down, and poured myself another. Still in my bra and panties, I padded out of the kitchen into the utility room. The washing machine had just finished a cycle and I reflected that I ought to unload it and hang the washing up.

When I turned, he was there, standing in the kitchen, wearing his sweatpants and no t-shirt, his feet bare. He was staring at me. His lips were slightly parted and he held his arms slightly out from his sides, like someone about to start running. His breathing was fast and shallow. My heart started to thump. I knew I had to be decisive.

"Are you back for more?" I asked sharply. "Because I don't appreciate people coming in my house if I haven't invited them."

"You know what I want," he said in a thick voice. I observed that there was a noticeable bulge in the crotch of his baggy sweatpants. My blood was pounding in my ears. This was not happening. He wouldn't dare.

"I told you," I said, my voice sounding shaky, "that that was never going to happen. Now do you understand?"

"It's my turn," he breathed.

"I'll scream," I warned him, backing away towards the hall. I still had my water glass in my hand.

"Nobody'll hear you," he said.

I put the glass down on a side table, turned, and ran into the hall. I heard him following me. I skidded on the hall floor and scrambled up the stairs. I was athletic, but so was he, and he was younger than me. I ran for the guest room, which was still mostly unfurnished - just a bed with no bedclothes and a newly polished floor. I got inside and was closing the door when he crashed into it, knocking me over. I was on the ground, seeing stars, when he dived on top of me.

His fingers were fumbling with my underclothes. This was it, my darkest and most disturbing fantasy, a man trying to rape me, and now it was happening for real - and yet some part of me still regarded it as part of the game we were playing. Did he really want to take me? Or did he secretly wish for me to defeat him, and humiliate him once again? The thought filled me with excitement and energy. That was what I would do, make him submit to me - his attempt at revenge would go drastically wrong, because he wanted it to.

"You won't manage it," I gasped, "you won't be able to hold out, I'll take you like I took you before..." I grabbed his arms and yanked them apart, pulling his hands away from my bra straps. He was sitting astride my stomach. I planted my legs on the floor and heaved my hips upwards, bucking him. He slid off me and crashed to the floor.

At all costs, I knew I had to keep my underwear on, or I would lose my superior status. I turned around so that I faced down his body and clamped my legs around his head, lowering my bottom onto his face, my knees holding down his shoulders. He reached up blindly and tried to grab my bra. I fought off his arms and grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. I heard a muffled moan as they slid over his naked hips. I exulted - I was stripping him, I was forcing him to submit. I rubbed my pantied crotch into his face, my calves gripping his head tightly, and I pulled the sweatpants off him. Now he was naked.