The Good Neighbour Ch. 03

Chapter Three - Beatrice McLennan

Now...

The young man pawed at Abigail, he was so excited that he didn't know where to start. Now that this sexy, mature woman had finally consented to his advances he was overjoyed and overexcited. He kissed her, driving his tongue into her mouth, he stroked her breasts through her blouse and then put his hands under her skirt to stroke her stockinged thighs and silken-clad buttocks, he pressed his hard cock against her.

Abigail knew that the boy would be exhilarated once she allowed him to touch her but he was almost uncontrollable, like an excited puppy scampering after the dinner bowl.

She led him upstairs, slapping his hand away from her bottom as he tried to grope her on the stairway.

"You can have it all when we get to my bedroom, just settle down for now," she chided him.

"I've wanted you for so long, I can't keep my hands off you," the boy whimpered.

When they got to her room, Abigail turned the tables on him. She closed the door and then slammed the boy against it, pressing herself against him. She crushed her lips against his and began to unbuckle his belt. The boy tore off her blouse and released her breasts from the cups of her brassiere; he squeezed the creamy globes and tweaked her nipples between his fingers.

Abigail didn't mind, she wanted it to be rough the first time with him. She ripped off his jacket and shirt and dropped them to the floor, and then she raked her nails across his narrow, hairless chest. She kissed him passionately, biting his lip as she pushed down his pants. He kicked them away and his shoes followed.

Naked except for his underpants and socks, Abigail put her arms around him and drove her tongue into his mouth; she guided him to the big bed and pushed him on it. He lay there panting as she pulled down his underpants and revealed a large and throbbing erection. The boy looked up at the beautiful mature woman with wonder; he'd wanted this for so long.

Abigail knelt over the young man, topless; her bra around her belly, her black leather micro-miniskirt hiked up where he had groped her. Her creamy thighs exposed above the dark welts of her stockings, a peek of black satin panty exposed. She was still wearing her four inch high heels, her red lipstick smeared around her mouth, her glossy black hair in disarray.

She ripped off her bra and her skirt and fell on him, hungrily mauling his mouth with hers, his cock pressed against her warm flesh.

The boy wanted to suckle her breasts so she let him, lifting herself off him so that he could nuzzle her teats. But what the lad really wanted lay in her nether regions and his hands soon found their way to her buttocks. He squeezed and fondled them through the layer of slinky satin and then he slipped a hand inside them.

"I knew it!" the boy yelped when he found her cock, semi-hard, taped to her perineum.

Abigail winced as he tore off the surgical tape and then she moaned as the boy softly stroked her hardening penis. She contacted her pelvic muscles and her testes descended from her inguinal canals and her scrotum distended. The boy gently cupped her scrotum and Abigail lowered her face to his and kissed him.

She allowed him to explore her genitals for a little while, knowing the boy was impressed with the size of her cock but she wanted to taste him. She disengaged from him and wormed her way down his body. The boy whimpered his dismay and then he groaned as she took him in her mouth and licked at his fraenulum with the tip of her tongue, clamping her lips around the base of his cock.

"Oh, I've wanted this for so long," the young man sighed.

He guided Abigail's mouth up and down his phallus, lightly holding her head. She looked up at him with those gorgeous green eyes enhanced by the dark eye makeup and the boy felt his climax approaching.

Abigail felt it too and she spat out his cock. She wanted him inside her when he came the first time. She ripped off her panties and scampered up the bed and straddled him, slowly impaling herself on his rampant organ. She stared at him and he stared back, watching his cock slowly ease its way into her tight sphincter. Her own erect penis wobbled out front as she lowered herself until he was buried in her up to the hilt.

The boy reached out and placed his hands on Abigail's waist to keep her balanced as she began to fuck him, slowly at first, lifting herself up until his glans was ringed by her sphincter and then lowering herself until he was embedded deep in her anus. This maximised the pleasure for both of them. The boy's cock elicited sparkles of delight from her sphincter and then deep waves of pleasure when his glans penetrated her deeply and pressed on her prostate. Her own cock began to throb and threads of silvery viscous pre-ejaculate dribbled from the eye.

The boy stared up into her beautiful face questioningly and Abigail nodded, she knew what he was asking her. The boy took her in his hand and began to stroke her. Abigail threw back her head and wailed with lust and then she began to fuck the boy hard and fast, driving his cock into her as far as it would go.

The boy whimpered and cried out as his orgasm approached; she felt his cock throbbing inside her and then the rhythmic pulse as he ejaculated deep in her anus. Abigail climaxed with him, spewing forth her hot seed. It splashed onto the boy's pale flesh and ran down the side of his body, soaking into the linen.

Abigail writhed and gyrated, impaled on the boy's throbbing cock, milking every last drop of semen from him. Then she fell forward and they smashed their mouths together, the boy wrapped his arms around her and bucked, fucking her as hard as could as his orgasm plateauxed and then began to subside.

Finally sated, Abigail lay on top of the boy panting, trying to compose her breathing as the boy gasped and panted underneath her. His cock slipped from her anus and a stream of creamy hot spend dribbled from her sphincter.

"That was amazing!" the boy grinned up at her.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad," Abigail teased him.

"I guessed you were a tranny. I was watching you for ages, never expecting for a minute that you would be interested in me but I was so hoping you were," the boys smiled.

"Polite company does not use the word tranny young man," Abigail teased him again.

"But it was astute of you to notice. I mean a mature lady dressed like a trollop hanging around a tranny pickup bar on Canal Street Manchester was hardly likely to be anything else was it," she chided him.

The young man looked a little hurt.

"Look... what's your name again?" she asked.

"Mitchell," he was slightly wounded that she had forgotten.

"Don't sulk Mitchell, you had hardly sat down beside me in the bar before you were groping me and I graciously bought you back to my hotel room," Abigail climbed off him and reached for her purse, looking for cigarettes.

"Look Mitchell, I usually don't go for the youngsters, and you can't be much over twenty, but I had an itch that needed scratching and you worked out perfectly," she lit her cigarette and reached out and playfully mussed his hair.

"So you used me," Mitchell had perfected the chastised puppy look.

"As much as you used me; yes," she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Abigail reached out to put her cigarette in the ashtray and Mitchell began to rise up off the bed.

Abigail pushed him back down and climbed on top of him, straddling him.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going? I haven't finished with you yet; not by a long chance," she grinned and lowered her face to his.

On the drive back to Brookhaven the next day Abigail fantasised about her illicit evening with Mitchell, it would provide her with enough masturbatory fantasies to keep her content until she came back to Manchester in few weeks time. As she got closer to home her thoughts shifted to Beatrice McLennan and her nephew Steven Balfour. An interesting set of circumstances was developing there. She wondered if Steven had been into her bedroom while she had been away. Had he spunked in a pair of her drawers taken from one of her drawers? She laughed to herself at the homonym.

Speaking of drawers, she lifted her handbag and hefted the weight of the small calibre pistol that usually resided in her bedside table. She would put it back when she got home. She didn't really take it with her for protection; she just didn't want Steven finding it when he undoubtedly rummaged through her bedroom.

***

Steven Balfour didn't realise what he had let himself in for when he agreed to attack Abigail Thompson's back garden. Although she kept the front of her yard immaculate, she just didn't have the time or energy to work on the overgrown jungle at the back of the house. The previous owners had planted a small orchard of fruit trees, apple, pear and plums, but as they aged the owners had become incapable of maintaining it. The branches of the trees were now intertwined and a veritable labyrinth of undergrowth had taken over the ground beneath the snaking branches.

But things almost immediately started going his way. Because of the thicket of interwoven branches the only way to attack the garden was through either the side gate or the back door to Abigail's house so Abigail gave Steven the keys to both. Over the course of ten weeks he had beaten back the morass from the back of the house and cut a maze of passageways deep into the yard.

Most of the time he was working in her garden Abigail was home which was a two-edged sword. The good part was that he got to look at her, she always dressed sophisticated but with a hint of provocativeness. Her dresses and skirts were always a little too short, showing off her long legs, invariably clad in sheer hosiery and shod in high heels. Her blouse unbuttoned one button too many displaying the heft of her pert breasts and lace of her brassiere. She wore too much makeup and was always surrounded by a miasma of perfume.

But because she was often home he couldn't explore her house as much as he would like to. Steven wondered what delights she kept in her bedroom. He wanted to meddle through her lingerie drawers, to gaze upon her hosiery, to fondle her lingerie, to sniff and caress her used knickers and stockings that he dreamt were waiting just for him in her laundry basket. He imagined lying naked on her bed, inhaling her perfume and the hint of her perspiration on her pillow, then sliding one of her stockings over his engorged cock and bringing a pair of her used panties to his mouth and nose, sniffing her vaginal juices and sucking the musky dampness from the crotch.

Abigail was aware that she fascinated the boy; she felt his eyes roam over her body, searching her pretty eyes, lingering on her pouted lips. He couldn't disguise the lascivious look in his eyes when he gawped at her breasts, her bottom and her legs. She felt a little flattered but chuckled to herself at the colossal surprise he would experience if he was to get his hand inside her knickers.

As the weather warmed Steven took to working in the garden bare-chested, he was sinewy and pale at first but as the summer drew on, his torso became tanned and his muscles developed. Abigail sometimes wondered what it would be like to let the boy have his way with her. Robert Brinkley had been her age, maybe a little older, when he had taken her virginity in prison and since then she had only ever been with older men during her monthly sojourns to Manchester.

She fantasised about finding Steven rummaging through her lingerie drawer and seducing him on her big bed, making the boy moan with lust as she used her skills to bring the boy to the brink of orgasm and keep him there.

Finally, Abigail had found Mitchell in the Canal Street bar and lived out the fantasy. It was invigorating and satisfied her needs for now.

Beatrice McLennan also noticed that her nephew was developing a toned tanned body. He came home from Abigail's house shirtless and glistening with sweat leaving a masculine musk when he traipsed through the house and up the stairs to use the bathroom. She contemplated making him rinse off before he came inside the house or at least putting his shirt back on, but she kind of liked observing his blossoming manhood. Sometimes at night she thought of Steven when she used her fingers on her vagina or slid her vibrator inside herself.

Beatrice actually became a little jealous of her next door neighbour.

Abigail and Beatrice's relationship blossomed. Their Sunday afternoon teas became a ritual, although not much tea was being drunk. Beatrice was somewhat enamoured with her neighbour; she was attractive, exuded sexuality, and dressed the way she also liked to dress. But there was something special about her. It wasn't just her smoky voice and her sometimes over-exaggerated femininity, there was just something that Beatrice just could not pin down.

"Top up?" Beatrice leaned out and poured a generous amount of scotch into Abigail's glass.

"How's your garden coming along?" Beatrice asked.

"Steven is doing a remarkable job. He's pruned back most of the fruit trees and is working his way through the tangle of undergrowth," Abigail replied, she was on her fourth drink of the afternoon.

"Paying him forty quid a week has something to do with his incentive," Beatrice grinned.

Both women were as usual dressed provocatively; it's almost like they were in competition with each other to see who can be the most flirtatious. Today they were almost identically dressed, tight black miniskirts, satin blouses, one white the other cerise, heavy but perfect makeup, flesh-toned sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, red satin panties and bra, black heels, one shod in Louboutin, the other Blahnik.

Beatrice once again recalled her lesbian encounter at Chelmsford Finishing School for Young Ladies and thought that if she was ever going to re-live that experience it would be with a woman like Abigail. Abigail's mind was wondering too. Since transitioning she had never really taken an interest in women, she liked being a woman too much herself, she liked playing the submissive role but... she had to admit that she fancied the pants off Ms McLennan, not that she had any intentions of acting on her fantasies.

"I can see he's making inroads into that jungle of yours, looks like he's cutting little trails through the brush so he can attack it on all fronts. I wouldn't be surprised if he found Doctor Livingston in there," Beatrice guffawed and Abigail laughed along with her.

"Wait a minute? How can you see these so-called trails, all I can see is a wall of thicket from my back door,' Abigail's brow furrowed.

"From my bedroom window I can see down into your garden, both front and back," Beatrice slurped on her drink.

Then Abigail remembered looking up to see Steven looking down on her while she knelt in the front yard gardening all those months ago. He'd blushed guiltily when she'd looked up at him.

"Oh I see. I thought that was Steven's room," Abigail replied straightforwardly.

Beatrice blushed and Abigail remembered what she had been told about Steven using his aunt's stockings and lingerie to masturbate.

"Surely he doesn't go into your bedroom to... to you know?" Abigail blushed too.

"Let me show you something," Beatrice arose and offered her hand.

Abigail admired her friend's long elegant fingers and red-lacquered fingernails.

She also admired Beatrice's pert round buttocks clad in the tight miniskirt and her long, toned legs as she followed her up the staircase. She felt herself becoming uncomfortably turgid and wished she could put a hand under her own skirt to adjust her burgeoning erection.

Beatrice was aware of the proximity of Abigail's face to her derriere and she felt herself become a little damp knowing that Abigail had an eyeful of her bottom and her legs.

"In here," Beatrice led Abigail into her bedroom.

Their heels click-clacked on the boards as she led Abigail over to the window.

"Look," she pointed with her chin.

Abigail moved in beside Beatrice and looked out the window. She could see Steven hacking at the undergrowth in the back corner of her garden. She was very aware of her proximity to Beatrice; they were almost touching.

Then to their amazement, Steven put down his garden shears and began to rummage in the long grass. He had his shirt off and was red with sunburn. He pulled out his canvass haversack from under a hedge, untied the straps and peered inside.

"What's he doing?" Abigail whispered.

Then, to their amazement, he extracted a pair of red satin panties and a black fully-fashioned stocking from the plastic bag. He dropped the satchel on the ground and lowered his trousers and underpants in one swift movement.

"Oh my," Abigail's hand went to her throat.

"Oh my god!" Beatrice gasped.

"Those are my panties," Abigail whispered.

"That's my stocking! I threw a pair of them out yesterday," Beatrice swallowed.

They watched the boy smooth out the stocking and then slide it over his well-endowed erect penis.

"Those knickers went missing from my laundry hamper last week. I thought I'd lost them," Abigail sighed.

"Looks like you have now," Beatrice giggled and slapped Abigail playfully on the rump.

"Oh my god!" it was Abigail's turn to blaspheme as Steven lifted her panties to his nose and inhaled.

"I told you about his fetish but I never expected you to have to witness it," Beatrice was dry-mouthed.

"But you have before?" Abigail turned to Beatrice in time to see her face turn scarlet.

Beatrice guiltily recalled the night she had watched Steven masturbate through the keyhole of his bedroom door.

Beatrice nodded.

"Oh my," they both gasped as Steven began to stroke himself.

"We shouldn't watch," Beatrice whispered but she could not tear her eyes away.

"No we shouldn't," Abigail replied; her eyes locked on the girth of Steven's cock.

Both women were breathing hard and shallow as they watched the boy masturbate with his aunt's stocking draped over his cock and his neighbour's panties pressed against his nose.

"He's so big," Abigail sighed.

Her cock was fully erect and had broken free of the surgical tape holding it against her perineum. It was pressing down into the crotch of her knickers, held in place by the gusset of her pantyhose and she hoped it didn't spring free and tent her skirt.

"Yes he's big," Beatrice gulped.

Her panties were soaked. It was bad enough that she was watching her nephew masturbate, but the gorgeous woman to whom she was somehow attracted to was also standing right beside her as she watched him.

The two women began to breathe heavier as they watched Steven bring his cock to full tumescence and begin to earnestly stroke it.

"Are we wrong to watch?" Abigail sighed.

"Yes; especially now that I'm doing this. I'll understand if you're revolted but I'm sorry I can't help myself," Beatrice mumbled.

Abigail glanced down and saw that Beatrice had her hand under her skirt and was stroking herself through her pantyhose and panties.

Both women had just enough booze in them to loosen their inhibitions.

"I'm sorry Abigail; it's my dirty little secret. I sometimes fantasise about Steven," but Beatrice made no effort to stop rubbing herself.

"It's nothing. I've fantasised about him too. But my dirty secret is enormous. I'm too scared to ever tell you," Abigail's breathing was ragged.

Beatrice turned to face Abigail and looked into her beautiful green eyes and then she leaned in and kissed her. Abigail opened her lips a little in response. The kiss was soft and feminine and deeply arousing. They put their arms around each other and kissed a little harder.

Beatrice broke the kiss and looked longingly into Abigail's eyes.

"Is that your enormous secret? That you fancy me too? It's not that enormous; I've sensed it for a few weeks now and I'm sure you have too," Beatrice leaned in to kiss Abigail again.