My Neighbors' Bodyguard

"That's harder for me to explain," I said. And that was true. I didn't understand them. "They like to talk to me a certain way. They gently get me under their spell, and maneuver me into vulnerable positions."

"It sounds like some sort of magic," she said.

"Not really, of course, but something like that. It's like they know how to put me into a sexually needy trance."

"And when you're in that state, they like to do things to you?"

"Yes and no. They do get involved, touching me and taking off my clothes and adjusting things. But mostly they like to watch me with their bodyguard."

"They're watchers."

"And they like to make a running commentary on what they see us doing and what they think of me for doing those things."

"And somehow the word 'bitch' best captures all of that for them."

I nodded yes.

"Which also explains why you're wearing a collar. I assume they bought it and put it around your neck?"

"They bought it and gave it to me. But Donovan, the bodyguard, put it on me himself."

"Ah, yes," she said, "that makes sense."

* *

A few minutes later. "Do you have their phone number?" she asked me.

I looked at her in surprise.

My phone was in the other room, so I padded off to get it, handing it to her when I returned.

"It's here in RECENT CALLS. The name is Patrick and Justine Petrie."

My wife pressed the CALL button, and looked me straight in the eyes while she waited for them to pick up. When someone did, she put the phone on speaker and placed it on the bed between us.

The next several minutes were the most bizarre phone conversation I've ever known.

"This is Marissa, your new neighbor. I understand that you and your bodyguard have been playing with my husband Steven for a few weeks now?"

"Why hello, Marissa"--it was Justine's voice that responded. "Yes, indeed we have been enjoying him. He's such a lovely man and so well suited to our needs."

Patrick's jumped in. "This is Patrick, Marissa. I hope we haven't crossed any firm boundaries, but your husband was such a tempting morsel, and we hadn't really had a chance to meet you yet."

"I understand," Marissa said, "and thank you for being so sweet and straightforward about this situation."

"Naturally," Justine said. "Please just let us know anything on your mind."

"Let me see if I grasp what has been going on, correctly," Marissa continued.

And for the next half-hour I listened as she and the new neighbors discussed in graphic terms the nature of the special relationship that had developed. I had no idea Marissa had so many lewd words in her vocabulary--nor, more surprisingly, how easily she embraced the game-playing spirit of crude banter about sexual positions and kinky psychology.

She quickly discovered the key words and phrases that turned the neighbors on and used them liberally, and she listened increasingly happily as they described in graphic terms what they had done with me and sketched some future possibilities.

I got hard and almost orgasmed just listening to my wife and our neighbors agree that our special relationship would continue--that I was to continue to be their plaything and Donovan's bitch too.

"I have only two conditions," Marissa said firmly. She wasn't a high-flying businesswoman for no reason, and her voice had an edge to it.

"We'll be happy to accept any reasonable conditions," Justine replied quickly.

"Unfortunately, I am not going to be around to join in these sex games for the foreseeable future," Marissa said. "My work will keep me traveling. Yet I know my husband has needs--and now apparently very special needs--that I would like to know are satisfied regularly."

Patrick's voice: "Perfectly sensible."

"So condition one is for you, Justine and Patrick. I want you to keep me in the loop--by means of pictures and videos of your sexual encounters with my man. Not necessarily every single time, but I want pictures frequently, and even better video clips of Steven doing all of the perverse things you want to do to him."

"What a wonderful idea," Justine breathed into the phone.

"I will send you an anonymous email address, and you can send and upload them there."

"Perfect," said Patrick. "We'll do that happily. You will know everything that happens."

"And before I let you go," Marissa said, "Let me keep you on the line while I explain my second condition, which is for Steven alone to fulfill."

"We're listening," they said.

"You may not know this, but Steven is working on a novel. He's very good at describing scenes, developing storylines, and evoking what his characters are thinking and feeling. He's very sensitive."

"So, Steven, my condition for you is this." She was looking directly at me, but her voice was both for me and our phone audience.

"Every time you have one of your sexual encounters with Justine, Patrick, and the bodyguard Donovan--afterwards I want you to write an account of it. I want to know what you feel when they say those dirty words to you. I want you to describe what it is that makes your cock get so hard when they expose your body. I want you to express what emotions and sensations you experience when that big bodyguard touches you and fucks you."

I was speechless.

"I want to know it all, and I want to know it directly from you."

I nodded, inwardly excited at the prospect of living in reality and then re-living in words the open-ended perversities to come.

"You can send them to that same email. I will read your stories while I'm traveling. And we can talk about them more when I am home."

"I will," I said.

Justine's voice came out of the speaker: "That sounds like a delightful plan, Marissa. So thoughtful."

"Great," my wife replied.

"When do you leave on your next trip?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, unfortunately."

"Ah, so soon. Fortunately for us, though."

Marissa laughed at that, and Patrick and Justine joined in the merriment.

"As you're leaving tomorrow, please send the bitch over to us for mating. We have plans for him."

I suddenly felt like the luckiest man in the world.

* *