Love My Neighbour Ch. 02byAaronAardvark©
Thus far. I am a plump forty six year old, until recently, sexually frustrated, woman. Recently I seduced a truly gorgeous new lover who's only in his mid twenties, a genuine toy-boy. I'm in his lounge, kneeling on a chair with my legs spread wide and my bum pushed high in the air, dressed as a schoolgirl. I'm desperately randy and he's about to remove the hairs from around my anus: don't ask, after all this is part two of this story.
He rinsed his hands, leaving me kneeling with everything wide open and on display - I still flush when I think about that - when he had left the room he had assembled a few accessories so that we could clean up. "Ow," I squeal. He also brought a pair of tweezers, except that he calls them forceps, and he is using them to pull out about three hairs at a time. Just a sufficient number to really hurt, but few enough so that this is going to take him some time. Cunning devil, it's agony and it doesn't leave a mark; I suppose I ought to be grateful, doubtless these depilatory actions are doing me a favour really. But right now it really hurts, far worse than waxing, I cannot avoid it, soon fat tears are rolling down my cheeks. Finally he's done but then he, as he describes it, 'employs a flannel to clean up my oozing slit,' but really he uses it to return me to the very brink of orgasm.
"Right, you may rise now. And put those bloody knickers back on, but I'll teach you to wear such disgusting underwear. I must write a note for matron to ask her to fit you with a regulation bra as soon as possible, your chest wobbles like a jelly every time you move." He takes an envelop and writing pad from his workbox, writes on one of the sheets, folds it and places it in the envelope. "Post this in my letter box downstairs," he hands me the letter: each of the flats in the block has an individual box located by the front door.
God, I hope I don't meet anyone I know dressed like this; come to think of it, I hope I don't meet anyone at all, a forty six year old 'school girl' is going to attract attention and be remembered.
"What the hell do you think you're doing girl! You know the lifts are reserved for staff, use the staircase, oh and you can pop out and wave to me at the bottom so that I know when to check that you don't use the lift on the way back."
"Oh and run," he calls after me.
Running down the stairs is not too bad, nobody uses them, but between each flight I have to scuttle across a landing to get to the next one. I make the entrance hall, post his letter, prop the front door open, I really do not want to get locked out dressed as I am, and wave to his window. Running up four flights of stairs is no joke. The first two are fine, the third winds me and the fourth sets my calves aching, by the time I return I'm puffing like a grampus.
"I forgot to sign that letter, be a good girl and bring it back for me." He hands me a key.
This time I walk down the stairs while I get my breath back. The climb back up is painful, my calves are really beginning to ache, it is only as I toil up the fourth and final flight that I realise that I'm not done yet, he'll sign the letter and I'll have to take it back down again, and then I have to come up again.
"That was rather slow," he intones, tapping his watch "and once I've signed it you'll need to take it down again." No revelling or sense of triumph in my anticipation of his train of actions this time, just huffing, puffing and leaden legs. "Right, and this time if it takes you more than four minutes we'll have that old cane out and you'll get a stripe for every ten seconds, so hurry girl.
"Three minutes forty eight seconds," he has slipped his watch off and now pockets it. My cheat is heaving, I can barely stand, I've an agonising stitch and my legs are awash with liquid fire. "I say, you don't seem at all fit for a girl of your age, you need more exercise. Anyway come into my study and rest. Just squat there on your haunches and get back your breath." I try to squat down, it is absolute agony, my thighs turn to rubber, my calves cramp and I simply topple over. "I'll give your legs a massage." He skilfully restores the circulation to my calves, which is even more painful than the cramp itself and tears stream down my face.
As I gradually recover I realise that he is still massaging my legs and his hands are slowly working higher and higher up my thighs. I relax in the comforting glow that this kneading is building inside me. He's got a finger either side of my labia now, I'm getting all wet again, I feel like I'm melting, oh I do so want to come; no I need to come and I forget myself, "For God's sake just shag me; stop teasing me and fuck my brains out, screw me, spear me, ram me, whatever me, just plunge your dick into my cunt and rut like a rampant stag."
"Excuse me young lady! But I hope you did not learn those expressions within this establishment. And how can you dare to suggest that a member of the staff violates your person in so gross a manner? The correct form of address is, 'please sir, I'm beginning to suffer from womanly hysteria. Would you be so generous as to relive my symptoms by sliding your penis in and out of my vagina, whilst you finger my clitoris and roll and pinch my nipples between your fingers, until I undergo a succession of hysterical paroxysms to completion. If, once these have passed, you find yourself in a state of excessive inflation, or experience heaviness of the testicles, or tightness in the scrotum, or worse a combination of these, do please continue to thrust your pelvis rhythmically until your discomfort has been assuaged.' At your age you really should know that one by heart."
"Please sir, could you write that rule down for me so that I can memorise the correct version: in the version I was taught the nipples are not rolled or pinched but rather the anal sphincter is poked and prodded by a well lubricated finger."
"There are different forms, that is true, if the variant that you have memorised effects your cure more speedily you may continue to utilise it. I will write my version and then you can append yours." I had not considered writing as a part of foreplay before, but as I rewrote my version of James's rule, if you listened carefully, you could actually hear my pussy squelching.
"Not only; wrong bra, wrong skirt, wrong underwear, but a mouth that should only speak to a child's plastic potty. As well as the state of your attire, we need to investigate your decorum young lady.
At least I had graduated from girl to young lady; me fat, forty odd and now somewhat sweaty.
"Go and make a pot of tea, warm the pot first and don't forget the hot water jug."
"No sir." I curtsey and go to his kitchen, put on the kettle, find the silver tea service, the 'brown Bessie' and the multi-coloured cosy, the Sri-Lanka tea, which takes four minutes to brew, I thankfully remember: the Japanese have nothing on James when it comes to making tea correctly. I hunt for biscuits, there really ought to be biscuits, for a woman as randy as I am, chocolate biscuits, but James appears not to possess any sort of biscuit, whatsoever. Warm the pot with boiling water, dry it as you bring the water back to the boil, spoon the tea into the pot, pour the boiling water over the tea from a height sufficient to make it splash gently so that it becomes re-oxygenated, stir the brew rapidly, but not too vigorously, leave it for two minutes - you can fill the milk jug and the sugar bowl whilst you wait, to me that aside was unnecessary, women multi-task naturally, especially if they have had children - stir again and leave for a further two minutes - you can carry it into the room then, see my previous comment on multi-tasking. Actually, at this juncture, I have to boil some more water for the hot water jug so the tea is well brewed when I take it in.
The next part of his ceremony; pour the milk into the cup first, then pour the tea over it; James has an obsession about tea, and coffee, but his tea does beat my PG tips, hands down, every time. "The tea's stewed girl: doubtless, occurring whilst you boiled the water for the hot water jug. We cannot waste it but I cannot drink this filth, so you must drink all of it." So I slowly sip two pints of tea, and endure four slaps of the ruler on my inner thighs for failing to remember to keep my little finger extended as I sip, 'as a lady ought to': James thinks of everything.
I recall the formula. "Please sir, may I go to the toilet?"
"A disobedient and downright disrespectful person such as yourself expects to be afforded the privileges of a water closet? There's a dish there," he pointed to the bowl that he had used to first rinse his fingers and then wash my anal crack. "If you must micturate, you may squat over that whenever you please. You haven't finished your tea' and the pot is a bit low; I'll add some more hot water for you." With an air of resignation I dragged the bowl over to me, James was going to make me pee whilst he watched.
"Please sir must I - must I, well with you watching - can I not...
"Absolutely not, I want to see your discomfort, I want everyone to see what a silly little girl you have been, I'd like to invite an audience, if I had a camera I'd record your humiliation for posterity."
Then, without thinking, I said something really stupid, "Please sir there's an old Polaroid camera in the cupboard with the cane."
"Well fetch it directly, girl."
I blushed furiously, not only did my face go scarlet but also my neck and I could even feel the heat of my blood in the tops of my tits. "Please sir..."
"Do you want to bring the cane as well as the camera girl?"
My heart was pounding as I unlocked my front door, tasteful naked pictures I was happy to pose for, especially if I could stand in front of that big mirror: obscene pictures of James using and abusing me like an animal, better still, I'd bring him the tripod for those; but photographs of me pissing into a bowl dressed as a schoolgirl, I shuddered. In the end I prayed that the old film would fail. My hand was actually shaking when I handed James the camera. While he examined it I began to pull my knickers down,
"No, young lady, you chose to wear those, those things; you keep those pulled up."
Now I got it; I understood the full nature of my punishment, I had to squat over a small bowl and piss into it through my knickers, wearing a longish skirt and now be photographed doing it as well. "Please don't make me - please sir, forever sir, I will keep my skirt short and my pussy free of encumbrance."
"No we must ensure that you have learnt your lesson well! In fact we will snap a before and after as well, sit there legs wide apart," he pointed to one of the chairs then, once I'd sat down, he arranged my skirt very carefully. "Smile." When the picture was developed you could see the huge dark stain in the gusset of my pants really clearly. "What's the next picture going to matter anyway," he smirked, "your pants are so thoroughly soaked already." I was, by now, desperate to pee, so I squatted over the bowl carefully, legs well apart, skirt held high and I - I just let go. As I relived that pressing pressure in my bladder there was a big bright flash: if he had made me go to his letter box stark naked and I had been caught, I would have been less embarrassed, oh but that pee did feel good. "Stay there, you're sweaty, smelly and covered in piss; I suppose I'll have to hose you down in a minute or two, after we have snapped your after shot"
Despite my humiliation I was still desperately on heat, I thought, 'no I don't want to be hosed down I want you to fuck me under the shower, bang me like a drum, you cruel, teasing bastard: I'm going to get you for this.' I would find his weakness and extract my revenge and then I remembered how his eyes went wide as he stared at people bound naked and helpless and I knew that vengeance was indeed going to be sweet. Finally, he threw a towel to me and ordered me into the bathroom.
"Right strip off and sit in the bath, facing the taps with your legs wide apart." He removed the shower head attachment from the tube that ran to the taps and turned the cold on at fill blast, then he sprayed me with it all over. Every single square inch of my skin broke out in goosebumps and I began to shiver. "Keep still girl and keep those legs wide apart or afterwards we'll warm you up with that cane rather than a towel." Being sprayed in the face was the worst, well at least until he restricted the flow with his thumb and hit my nipples with the jet, the result was nerve jarring, both painful and arousing at the same time. Next he directed the tight jet directly onto my clit, I don't know if I came or not, I certainly screamed at the explosive intensity of the sensation and I knew from the evil glint in James's eye that this would become a regular feature in our rougher love making. Just imagine if, instead of cold and shivery, I had been really randy when he did it, imagine if he'd just completed my intimate inspection or...
He kept playing the water over my pussy and even added some from the hot tap, I was gradually becoming very aroused indeed. I closed my eyes and began to sigh, my clit radiating a warm glow to my brain, I began to tickle my own nipples, I emitted a long shuddering, involuntary sigh and knew that my next exhalation would incorporate a long explosive orgasm. Of course he stopped then and hit me in the face with the full force of just the cold water. I simply burst into tears, tears born of rage. "Turn over," he commanded, "and hold the crack of your bum apart, big shitty bottoms like yours need an extra through hosing down. Considering that you're a school girl your tits and bum are as developed as those of any fully mature woman."
I giggled, but secretly I thought, 'you're definitely going to pay for this and very slowly at that.' Of course I did as he ordered and - I really should have anticipated what came next - he took another photo of me prising the cheeks of my bum wide apart; at least my face was not in that one. Then we went through the same routine, more or less, except now it was my anus rather than my nipples that gained extra attention and, by the end, he left me just as frustrated as I had been before.
"Right towel yourself dry, I think we need to give you one more body search; I'm afraid this one has to be a deep body search and I have to use my 'special tool' for that." At last I was going to get shafted, a rub down with a warm fluffy towel and then James's rock hard shaft sunk as deep in my pussy as I could get it.
"Hang those clothes on a hanger, is that anyway to treat your uniform, girl?" Given my forty six years the conviction in his delivery of 'girl' sent a thrill down my spine. "Rinse those bloody knickers through too, hateful as they are, they stink of your piss and need to be cleansed. Empty the bowl into the toilet and then rinse it carefully. After that make sure your hands are spotless, I don't want piss tainted hands anywhere near me. Finally, dry and brush your hair, we can't have you dripping all over the place:" such irony, we both knew that, that night, I did not need water to drip.
'Good,' I thought, 'at least he hasn't made me drink my damn piss.' That's a kink I don't get; then I remembered, when he first sifted through that pile of dirty magazines 'watersports' had, on the whole, been given pretty short shrift. James thinks of everything; there, on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, hung a coat hanger, it even incorporated skirt clips. I would have liked to have had some clothes on, especially with James fully dressed, but I was clearly going to have to remain naked for now. I attended to my chores, my heart singing because I was finally going to be screwed senseless: for the umpteenth time that evening I wished my pussy would stop dribbling quite so copiously.
As I put the hairdryer down I called, "sir, I'm all finished sir."
The ruler is back, accompanied by the ominous palm tapping. "Are we sure that we are clean?"
"Right, lick your hands and suck all of your fingers, I need to be convinced."
Thank God I had washed my hands well.
"Now for your deep probe."
'Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,' I thought, 'probe me intimately with your special tool.'
"We'll start with your oral cavity."
'Bastard, bastard. Bastard!'
"Kneel down. Unzip my fly. Extract my special tool." His dick was certainly as large as I had ever seen it, and as stiff as it ever had been, his helmet was purple and shiny. "Now stroke the shaft whilst you use the head to explore every crack and crevice of your mouth." He began to sway, my ministrations were clearly a little more intense than he anticipated. I clamped my lips tightly round his helmet and worked my mouth hard. "No girl, no! We have not explored under your tongue yet." After exploring there we went on to examine my cheeks, my soft palette and the roof of my mouth, only then did he allow me to suck and lick until he pumped sticky white semen into my mouth. I hate this, I know that I've sucked James to orgasm before, but I only do it because he enjoys it so much, secretly I hate it. The taste is fine, but the texture when it lands. I know it's soon gone, diluted with saliva, but... And James is really randy tonight, he just keeps pumping his slick dense goo into my mouth, gobbet after gobbet, it feels thicker than usual and it is more cloying than ever: I could cry with frustration, I wanted to feel his sticky semen seeping slowly from my small, slippery slot and then dribbling down my crack and over my arse; filling the room with that unmistakeable, pungent aroma of maleness, the very essence of sensual sex, eau de coupling. Instead I had a mouth full of come and a prick that would require a lot of attention before it could satisfy my sole consideration: every part of my being, every nerve muscle and sinew, from inner core to my perimeter, screamed 'we must orgasm immediately!'
"Right whilst my special tool recovers its usefulness we can investigate just how innocent you are. You told me you'd been a good girl for such a long time, but I am not so certain of that."
"Please sir, please may I have a drink of water."
He considered my request. "You may but," he paused to consider, "but we need to complete your lesson. In the kitchen, in the cupboard that contains the glasses, you will find a glass stein with a capacity of one litre. Fill it to the brim and then bring it here."
'Oh dear,' I thought, 'more pissing games.' Another activity I don't really like, but somehow James had made it so incredibly demeaning, once again I broke out in goosebumps, my areolae crinkled, my nipples stiffened into tight little buds and I suffered another hot flush. James drank it all in, he read my comprehension and understood my very involuntary response. I did as he bid me, cheekily swinging my hips to make my buttocks wobble as I left the room.
When I returned he looked stern. "Set the glass on the floor, no don't bend your knees, bend over. Stay that way. So you enjoy wobbling your bottom? Try these." He delivered four sharp raps with the flat of his ruler, two on each cheek, timed a few seconds apart so that he elicited the maximum degree of quiver per stroke. I gritted my teeth, I tried to hide the pain, but they stung like fire and the last one extracted a little sob from me. They certainly killed my ardour for the moment; I was very relieved that we were not using that cane, let alone that paddle.
"Now drink your water, quickly. Next, put your uniform back on, after that collect the bowl and return to my study where you will stand contritely until I instruct otherwise." As I dressed I left off my still soaking knickers and when I was back in uniform I returned to the front room, his 'study'. 'Whatever was he going to do next?' I wondered.