The Good Neighbour Ch. 02

Yes, Abigail knows that people find her strange and a little different but given time she will just become a local oddity, which is exactly what she wants.

What she also wants is a good shagging now and then. Abigail has a fine new pair of breasts and an extensive, expensive wardrobe full of sexy clothes that she does not mean to keep locked away in this country town. Once a month she makes the six-hour drive to Manchester. She stays in a fine hotel for a few days and goes out clubbing on Canal Street a different man each night back to her hotel. She has no interest in a long-term relationship and intends to stay away from London except for when she needs to conduct business there.

She studies herself critically in the mirror.

She likes her new hairstyle and colour. It's a shoulder-length bob with a fringe that she dyes black to match the colour in her passport but has her hairdresser put in burgundy highlights. Her brows are arched nicely and she has considered wearing contact lenses to disguise her striking green eyes but thinks she looks nothing like Mary Reynolds now so why bother. She certainly look's nothing like Murray.

She is very proficient with makeup, although she does tend to use too much. Not that she cares. She dresses to suit herself and likes being a sexy, feminine woman. Her eyes are heavily lined and mascaraed, burgundy eyeshadow with a splash of purple in the corners, burgundy lipstick too, to pick up the highlights in her hair. Some rouge applied on her high cheekbones, which have been enhanced by a little surgery and she looks good.

She does not own any dowdy clothing such as housedresses or so on. She has one pair of skinny jeans but prefers leggings if she's not wearing a dress or a skirt. She is never barelegged and buys only expensive hosiery. The same goes for her lingerie and night attire. Satin, silk, nylon and lace are the order of the day when it comes to undergarments and intimates.

She owns one pair of Nike trainers, which she wears with lycra leggings and a matching sports top when she goes for her daily run followed by a workout, and one pair of flat shoes which she hardly ever wears. The rest of her footwear is Choo, Louboutin, and Blahnik.

Abigail likes suits with short skirts, form-fitting designer dresses, leather skirts, animal-print blouses and faux furs. She calls her fashion sense 'eighties harlot' and doesn't care what anyone else thinks. She even does her chores in full makeup and heels. She potters in her front garden quite regularly but the backyard had become a bit of jungle which really needs proper attention.

She notices that she and Beatrice McLennan have very much the same taste in clothes, not that they spend any time nattering over the fence. Theirs is more of a nodding acquaintance, especially since that strange young man moved in with her. She's got the gist that he is her nephew but Abigail has an uncomfortable feeling about him. The way he watches his aunt; the way he watches her. She knows that teenage boys are all hardons and sticky sheets, she used to be one for god's sake, but on the rare occasion they meet he seems almost predatory the way his eyes slide over her body and that of his aunt's.

The invite to afternoon tea came as a surprise. Abigail's first reaction is to find some excuse not to go but then she'd have to go out or hide out in her own home and she didn't fancy doing either.

Beatrice McLennan seemed nice enough, they were on nodding terms but they had never had an in-depth conversation so she supposed that it was probably appropriate that being long-term neighbours, they got together for a chat.

Abigail want's to impress her neighbour but is insistent that she is not going to alter her style to please someone else. It might be Sunday afternoon but she refuses to dress like a church lady.

She settled on a black leather skirt, not too short, a leopard skin silk blouse, fully-fashioned black stockings and a pair of Jimmy Choo high-heeled pumps. Her makeup is perfect and she has toned down her jewellery to just a gold watch and bracelet, matching necklace and earrings and a tiny ankle-chain. Abigail sprays herself in a miasma of Shalimar before walking out the door.

"Hello Abigail do come in," Beatrice met Abigail at the door with a beaming red-lipstick smile.

Abigail is pleased to see that Beatrice isn't dressed for church either. Far from it; she's wearing a black chiffon-crepe skirt that is cut rather high on the thigh, a mauve satin blouse that displays her ample breasts to best advantage, silky-sheer tan pantyhose, what appear to be mauve suede Louboutin's and at least as much makeup as Abigail. Her dark hair is styled in ringlets around her attractive face and on closer inspection you could see the professionally coiffed highlights that make her hair look so lustrous.

"Thanks for inviting me," Abigail smiled back.

They held each other at arm length and air-kissed each other's cheeks. The flowery reek of their combined fragrances would linger in the hallway for days.

"You have a lovely house," Abigail commented as Beatrice led her through the house to a small glass-walled conservatory out back.

"Well, when you live alone it's easy to keep it clean," Beatrice smiled.

"I agree with you there," Abigail laughed politely.

A silver tea service was laid out on the glass tabletop of a white cane outdoor setting. Beatrice pulled out a chair for Abigail who tried to sit as primly as possible but still flashed a stocking-top as she smoothed her skirt under her. Beatrice approved of the expensive hosiery worn by her guest, she felt a kinship with this woman already and they had only just met formally.

But there was something about Abigail that intrigued her; something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her movements were a little too careful, a little exaggerated, almost over-feminine; and that voice. It was so sultry and sexy, deep but musical. Beatrice had a little dalliance with a girlfriend at the Chelmsford Finishing School for Young Ladies in her teens but had since never really found other women sexually attractive but she must admit that Miz Abigail Thompson rang her bell a little.

Beatrice sat down beside Abigail rather than across from her in a gesture of proffered friendship. Her skirt rode up too showing an expanse of thigh sheathed in exorbitantly expensive sheer hosiery, which met with the approval of Abigail.

The women's choice of hosiery also met with the approval of Steven Balfour who was watching them from the garden. Beatrice had banished him from the house while she entertained her guest and he had sulked off into the garden with his bird watching book and binoculars. But the two birds he was watching from a copse of fruit trees had no feathers. Steven was looking at their legs through the glass conservatory with his hands down his trousers. He wished he'd bought one of his 'wanking stockings' outside with him.

Beatrice poured tea and Abigail took up the conversation where they left off.

"You're not really alone though are you? You've had your nephew living with you for quite a while now?" Abigail phrased it as a question.

"Yes, my Sister Alice's boy. She ran away to Australia with a married man half her age," Beatrice took a sip of her tea.

"Lucky for her but unlucky for Steven I suppose; but at least he gets to stay in this wonderful house with you," it was Abigail's turn to sip tea.

"I'll get right to the point. That's one of the reasons I asked you for tea actually," Beatrice put down her cup.

Abigail looked at her inquisitively.

"Look. Steven is a typical nineteen-year-old lad in some ways. He likes to watch football, he plays video games; he's out in the garden bird watching now but he hardly ever goes further than my backyard. He goes to college of course and sometimes the movies but he's not very outdoorsy if you know what I mean," Beatrice placed her hand affectionately on Abigail's forearm.

"He needs to get out. To do something meaningful outside in the fresh air," she squeezed Abigail's arm gently to emphasise her point.

"Ok I get it. But where do I come into it? I'm twice his age and hardly up for a weekend camping," Abigail snickered.

"Oh god no! Nothing like that. I just want him out of the house doing something manly. And your back garden..." she let the statement hang.

"Oh fuck no! Sorry. Didn't mean to swear. I mean, I couldn't have a stranger hacking away in my back garden," Abigail sounded alarmed.

"Oh no. I'm sorry. It was a silly idea," Beatrice blushed, she was angry with herself for being so forward.

Abigail actually felt a little sorry for the woman even though they had only just met. Having to look after a teenage boy who insisted on being cooped up in this house must be very frustrating. And Abigail didn't have to do anything really. Just let the boy clean up her back garden.

"Ok I'll do it but I insist on paying him," Abigail blurted out before she really realised what she was saying.

"Oh you are a wonderful neighbour for doing this for me, especially given we were virtually strangers up until a few minutes ago," Beatrice leaned and kissed Abigail on the cheek.

This time it was no air-kiss and Abigail felt a little uncomfortable.

Steven managed to time his orgasm just as his aunt kissed the neighbour, the two spectacularly dressed women kissing each other was just the wank fodder he needed to fuel his imagination.

Of course in his imagination both women were stripped down to their lingerie, stockings and heels and the neighbour was lying on the table while his aunt lapped at her cunt. That image began to fade as his orgasm subsided; he wiped himself with his handkerchief and put himself away careful not to get any stains on his trousers.

He did so just in time because his aunt opened the door of the conservatory and beckoned him to come inside.

"Oh bollocks to that!" Steven was quite contrary when he was told that he would be spending one hour every afternoon in the next door neighbour's jungle that she called a garden.

"And four hours on Sundays afternoons, other than that your time's your own," Beatrice insisted.

Steven was about to complain again when an idea struck him. He would be able to legally access Miz Thompson's property. If he could get into her house who knew what goodies he might find and he would get to see her up close. He was staring at her legs now through the glass table. They were long and shapely and clad in sexy black stockings, he could just see the dark welt below the hem of her leather skirt and right beside those magnificent pins where his aunt's. Her legs were just as sexy and her crepe skirt had ridden right up and Steven could see those firm thighs sheathed in glistening flesh-toned nylon. He was getting hard again.

"And you'll pay me you say?" Steven changed tack.

"A fair day's pay for a fair day's pay," Abigail beamed at him and Steven just wanted to kiss those bright-red lips.

The presence of the two women, their long legs and heaving breasts on display, the combination of their perfume was making him heady. He wanted to pull up a chair and join them, to ogle them, to bask in their sexuality but he knew that it would be too dangerous. He would say or do something stupid. He was already staring at their legs and their breast and both women had subconsciously or otherwise pulled down the hem of their skirts.

"Ok Aunt Beatrice; done! I'll leave you two lovely ladies to sort out the details," Steven spun on his heels and bolted for the stairs.

His cock had an appointment with his aunt's knickers and stockings.

"Shall we switch?" Beatrice had got up and pointed to a crystal decanter and matching glasses on the sideboard.

Abigail nodded and beamed a congenial smile.

The two women enjoyed each other's company and made a decent effort at knocking off the decanter of scotch. Beatrice treated Abigail to all the gossip she had on the characters in their neat little village.

"It may not look like it, but it's a hotbed of larceny and debauchery," Beatrice chuckled after her fourth glass.

"Not really though, there hasn't been any real scandal since the publican got caught shagging his sister-in-law in the cellar," Beatrice laughed again.

'Oh there would be quite some scandal afoot if they knew about me,' Abigail thought to herself.

"The youngsters must get up to shenanigans though; there has to be a lover's lane?" Abigail held out her glass so that Beatrice could fill it again.

"Oh my god yes! The carpark at Black Tree Bluff is littered with dingers. The kids go up there to shag and there's rumours that there is a married couple who likes to go dogging there too. I found a pair of knickers and a pair of tights hanging off one of the tree branches once," Beatrice roared with laughter.

"Should have bought them home for Steven," Abigail joked.

Beatrice abruptly stopped laughing and studied Abigail soberly.

"What did you mean by that?" Beatrice sounded almost angry.

"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve. I was just joking. You know... the old joke about teenage boys collecting ladies underwear," Abigail realised she'd said something sensitive.

"Look. You're not stupid. You saw how Steven was pawing at us with his eyes, he couldn't stop looking at out legs and tits," Beatrice said.

Abigail nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"Well that's what it's like here all the time. It's unhealthy. And I've found things," Beatrice slurped on her scotch.

"What things?" Abigail leaned in intrigued.

"In his room. Panties, stockings, pantyhose, some lingerie... some of it's mine," Beatrice blushed.

"The randy young bugger!" Abigail burst out laughing.

Beatrice couldn't help but join her.

They hung onto each other laughing so much that they cried; their mascara and eyeliner smudging.

"It's not funny!" Beatrice tried to say seriously but she was cracked up and couldn't stop laughing.

"Look. Every teenage boy has fantasies about older women, and let's face it, both of us are pretty sexy. Can you imagine being surrounded by that twenty-four seven, it's a wonder he's got a dick left and hasn't worn it away," Abigail chortled and they both fell into another uncontrollable laughing jag.

"So that's the sort of friend you are. You're sicking your randy nephew on me so you can get some peace," Abigail said through fits of laughter.

"No seriously Abigail. I want you to work that boy hard and discipline him if he tries anything untoward. I want him to interact with other people, with other women, without seeing them as sex objects," Beatrice dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"I'll give it my best shot neighbour. Now... have you got any scotch left?" Abigail proffered her glass.

Up in his bedroom, Steven had locked the door and sat in the dark staring at the computer screen, his earbuds firmly in place. He'd Googled 'lady fucks lady in stockings', looking for a couple of hot lingerie-clad lesbians scissoring, but was surprised by some of the search results.

On the screen a gorgeous transvestite wearing a classy wig, full makeup, black satin bra and panties, fully-fashioned stockings and high heels was fucking a real woman dressed very similarly.

The tranny looked gorgeous as did the woman and they were obviously enjoying what they were doing. They were locked at the lips, arms around each other, legs intertwined, their stockings hissing when they rubbed together as the transvestite fucked the woman with a decent sized phallus.

Steven had a silk stocking draped over his cock and held a bunched up pair of panties he had found at school against his nose. He managed to hold back his orgasm until the transvestite in the video came, pulling her cock out of the woman's cunt and spraying sperm all over the woman's cunt, her belly and her stocking-tops. A huge dollop of creamy white semen formed at the toe of the stocking that he had wrapped around his cock.

He cleaned up with tissues and logged off the computer. He took the stocking and knickers with him to bed and listened to his aunt and his neighbour nattering and laughing downstairs. He recalled how sexy they looked sitting side by side in the conservatory and put the stocking and panties back to work. His cock was red-raw but he couldn't stop.

To be continued