The Good Neighbour Ch. 04

Chapter Four - Retribution

Then...

Robert Brinkley recalled his last few months in prison.

He was enamoured with a transvestite prisoner named Mary Reynolds. Most of the old timers didn't condone men having sex with other men in prison but the younger breed was more enlightened. A lot of prisoners would accept blowjobs from submissive or effeminate inmates and even fuck them if so inclined. It didn't make you gay; you were just being pragmatic, men needed release. Most of the men who did this did not consider themselves homosexual and reverted to heterosexual only relations when released.

But it was different for Robert. He didn't even register Murray Reynolds existence but whenever Mary Reynolds emerged from the makeshift dressing room behind the stage Robert became lovestruck.

At first he thought that his affair with Mary was only ever going to be a prison relationship but as Mary's release date approached, with his not far behind her, he began to fantasise about continuing their relationship outside.

At first Mary was reluctant to engage with Robert; that was until Robert forced her into a cleaner's closet and had his way with her. It lit a spark and Mary discovered that she really liked having sex whilst presenting herself enfemme. She tolerated Robert because he was enraptured by her, and he could protect her, being one of Larry's henchmen. Then, when he told her about the big scores that he helped Larry Connelly smuggle into Europe she set him up so that she could steal some of the loot and live full time as a woman far away from anyone who knew Murray Reynolds.

Robert knew all this. He knew he had been played for a tosser, he knew that she did not return his adoration... but he couldn't stop thinking of her.

He remembered the small stockroom in the prison that doubled as the play production office. The battered desk and chairs, the musty mattress he had laid on the floor. The mounting excitement as he crept along the corridor, entered the stockroom, and locked the door behind him.

Mary was dressed just the way he liked her to be. Her brunette hair cut into a cute bob with the fringe framing those delectable icy green eyes intensified by heavy black eyeliner and mascara, her eyelids daubed with burgundy and purple eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and those succulent plump lips glazed with bright-red lipstick. She was wearing a black micro-miniskirt which exposed the dark gauzy welts at the top of her fully-fashioned stockings, her white chiffon blouse revealing the red satin bra she wore underneath. He knew that the tits filling the cups of that bra weren't real but he didn't care. He also knew that she was likely wearing matching red satin panties under that skirt. Her feet at the bottom of those long toned legs clad in diaphanous nylon were shod in red 'fuck-me' high heels; her costume jewellery glittered in the dim light of the single table lamp.

The clothes, shoes and makeup that she wore were not requisite to her role in the play in which she played a femme fatale. Robert had smuggled the clothes, shoes and makeup in for her. He payed off one of the guards to bring in all sorts of contraband on behalf of Larry so why not treat his girlfriend to nice things.

He knew that Mary didn't consider herself his girlfriend but he didn't care; it's what he thought that mattered.

She smiled at him and ran her tongue across those luscious red lips; she wanted it as much as he did. It had been three days since their last meeting and they were both concupiscent and eager.

Mary was leaning back against the desk facing him and he stepped into her and kissed her, breathing in her delicious scent. They wrapped their arms around one and other and sighed. As was often the case they didn't have much time but Robert was determined to enjoy his princess to the fullest.

He slipped his tongue into her mouth; she tasted like sweet berries. He had been semi-hard for the last hour or so and when Mary raked her fingernails across the front of his jeans his cock engorged to full tumescence. He slipped a hand down to her legs and explored her thighs. The feel of her smooth soft skin sheathed in the gossamer nylons was incredible. Mary shivered with lust at his touch and gasped into his mouth when he began to slide his hand under her skirt and caress the creamy skin above her stocking-tops.

He found her erect inside her satin panties and he squeezed her gently, smiling when she sharply respired. She smiled too and began to unbuckle his pants. He eased away from her just enough to let them drop around his ankles. Mary freed his rampant penis and using his pre-ejaculate as a lubricant she began to slowly stroke him. He reciprocated the gesture and freed Mary's considerably sized member from her panties and caressed it. Their kisses became more wanton and greedy.

Robert placed his hands around Mary's slim waist and hoisted her onto the desk. She smiled up at him seductively and opened her legs. He stepped between them and kissed her and she wrapped her legs around him. He shucked off his shirt, he wanted to feel those cool, sleek nylons on his flesh. She extended her legs so that he could pull down her panties, her skirt was rucked up high on her waist and the desktop felt cold under her buttocks but she didn't care.

Mary opened her legs and put out her arms invitingly and Robert stepped into her embrace. She locked her arms and legs around his body and pulled him close as she slid her tongue into his mouth. Robert pulled her buttocks to the very edge of the desk and placed his penis at the entrance to her anus.

She clung to him, kissing him deeply as his shaft slid slowly inside her. She cried out when it was in her to the hilt and Robert took her in his hand. They remained bound together, enfolded in Mary's arms as Robert began to slowly fuck her, stroking her cock in time with his thrusts. Mary moaned and urged him on; they were both close to extremis having not been together for so long.

Mary's cock convulsed, ropes of hot semen erupted from her throbbing phallus. The scalding seed splashed onto Robert's belly and coated his fingers. He kissed her harder as she writhed with lust. Her actions elicited his own climax and he plunged himself deep inside her and ejaculated.

Now...

Robert came out of his reverie and stared at the house across the road from his parked van. It was an Edwardian red brick two-story with a neat garden out front. An identical house was beside it and he knew that it was there that the lad he had seen in the pub lived. He'd given the teenager a ride home because the boy was hopelessly drunk and incapable of walking.

The boy had rambled on drunkenly about being betrayed by his aunt and his neighbour and as much as Robert had tried to interrogate the boy about his next door neighbour he would just meander into an incessant rant about the two women deceiving him.

Robert considered just breaking into Abigail Thompson's house and beating her until she disclosed the whereabouts of the stolen money and jewellery. It was his usual modus operandi when dealing with people who had for some reason or the other offended him.

He looked down at the photograph and he couldn't help but sigh. Abigail might be a conniving stealing lying bitch but he still had feelings for her. He didn't understand why he felt like he did about her but it didn't matter; he was infatuated by her and longed for her. But he had a job to do. He set his resolve and opened the door of the white Transit van with the magnetic sign 'Falcon Electrical Contractors' emblazoned on the side. The numberplate on the van was conveniently obscured with a daub of mud. When he ripped off the magnetic sign the Transit would look like the thousands of other vans that travelled up and down the British motorways and backroads.

***

"I know about you and Abigail," Steven Balfour said unpretentiously to his aunt.

Beatrice McLennan had come into her nineteen-year-old nephew's room to admonish him for his behaviour yesterday evening when he had come home drunk from the pub. She was dressed in a navy-blue business suit with a tight pencil skirt, white cotton blouse and black high heels. She was heading into London for the day to see her investment banker again and wanted to look good; she wouldn't be home until late. Her makeup was perfect if a little heavy.

Steven was sitting up in bed, glaring at her when he announced to her that he knew about Abigail and her. Beatrice suddenly felt faint.

"She's not really a woman though is she? Well you know what I mean, she's a transsexual woman; you know... she has a cock. And you like her to stick it in you," Steven gnarled.

The click-clack of his aunt's high heels on the polished wood floors seemed deafeningly loud as she strode over to him with her hand raised.

Steven's reaction was lightening quick and he caught the blow inches from his face. He tightened his grip and twisted Beatrice's arm, forcing her down onto the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed, fuming but speechless. She sighed with relief when Steven let go of her hand and she tried to get up.

"Where do you think you're going Auntie Beatrice?" he said harshly.

"Sit back down!" he ordered.

Beatrice was fuming, outraged but dumbfounded. Then she opened her mouth to admonish her nephew but she never got a chance to speak.

"I filmed you with my phone. It's not very good quality but you can definitely see that it's you and the whore next door shagging. I'm not sure whether to post it online or keep it for myself," Steven sneered.

"Keep it for yourself, you degenerate. I know the porn sites you visit; it will make a good addition to your sick little collection of smut. I know what you've been doing with my underwear and my stockings too you sick little bastard!" Beatrice exploded.

"You're the sicko! The night you came home drunk and made me rub your feet and then pretended to be asleep and showed off your cunt to me through your pantyhose! That was sick!" Steven retorted.

"Sniffing and wanking into Abigail's knickers is sick too, especially now that you know she has a cock, you little perv!" Beatrice countered.

Steven started to laugh.

"We can trade insults all afternoon auntie; I'm the one with the video of you shagging our good neighbour. You're supposed to be a respectable spinster and I'm the randy young man; it's expected I'll be doing sexually deviant things. But when I send that video to the rest of the family well..." Steven grinned evilly.

Beatrice paled. You didn't have to be a Rhodes Scholar to know where this was heading.

"Surely you don't think you can blackmail with that video Steven," Beatrice bluffed.

"Oh I'm positive auntie Beatrice. I've made copies and stored them in the cloud. The copy on my phone is ready to be emailed, all I have to do is hit send," Steven lied; he had no video.

Beatrice was resigned. She noticed the bulge in the sheets and knew exactly what Steven wanted from her.

She stood up and at first Steven was afraid that she had called his bluff but then she started taking off her jacket.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm hardly going to let you fuck me in my best suit now am I?" she grinned at him.

"I guessed this day would come, you can cut the sexual tension around here with a knife," she said unzipping the side of her skirt and catching it deftly before it hit the floor.

She stepped out of the skirt and took off her blouse and folded them neatly, putting them on top of her jacket on the chair by the window.

Steven was speechless.

She began to climb onto the bed dressed only in her red satin panties, matching bra, sheer taupe hold-up stockings and her heels.

"Here are the rules. You tell no one, I mean absolutely no one, about us. You tell no one, I mean absolutely no one, about Abigail being transsexual and her relationship with me. We have sex only when I want it, I am not going to be your plaything ok?" by the time she had finished her speech her face was inches away from his.

He looked into her eyes, enhanced by eyeliner, eyeshadow and mascara. He raised a finger to her red-lipsticked lips and she bit it playfully. He could smell her perfume and her womanliness. She was straddling him, he was naked under the sheet and absolutely terrified that he was going to prematurely ejaculate.

"You're a virgin aren't you?" she smiled seductively at him, the tables had turned, she was in control.

Steven nodded; his eyes locked on hers.

"You will probably come before I put you inside me but that's ok. A young strong boy like yourself with raging hormones will recover quickly," she whipped off the sheets and exposed his huge erect phallus.

She had seen it before but never up this close. It was thick and meaty with pulsing blue veins running down the sides, the glans were pink and swollen and leaking globules of pre-ejaculate.

Beatrice licked her lips in anticipation and got up on one knee. She eased aside the gusset of her panties and lowered herself on the boy's throbbing cock. She felt him ejaculate as soon as he entered her.

Steven was transfixed watching his cock slide into his aunt's hot wet tight cunt. He reached out to her steady her but it was too late, the feeling of his cock encased in Beatrice's slick vagina invoked his climax. He cried out with the ecstasy of it and then Beatrice's lips sealed his and he moaned into her mouth as she ground against him, extracting all of his spend, driving her sodden labia into his pubis so it rubbed on her clitoris. She gasped into the boy's mouth as she too climaxed.

She lay on top of her nephew until he finished shuddering and then she arose, still sitting astride him; his cock buried deep inside her had not shrunk or lessened in girth at all.

"Good boy," she smiled down at him.

"Now give auntie a good shagging before she goes out for the day," Beatrice began to ride up and down on her nephew's engorged phallus.

***

Dressed in blue coveralls with the logo for Falcon Electrical Contractors emblazoned on the back, Robert Brinkley walked confidently up the pathway towards Abigail Thompson's house carrying a tool bag. He noted that the garage was empty and that the place looked deserted. There was no burglar alarm and he quickly defeated the door locks and let himself inside.

Her scent hit him as soon as he entered the house; it was like she had walked through the room only seconds ago. Robert knew that Abigail had left for town to go shopping early that morning, it was the one piece of useful information that he was able to get out of the blubbering teenager last night. He had all day to explore the house and wait her return.

Robert had dreamed of this day for so long now that he had played out a number of scenarios in his mind. Every plan that he imagined involved making love to Abigail before he took retribution. She'd changed. She was even more feminine if that was possible, it was impossible to tell that she was not a genetic woman. He loved her new hairstyle; the black shoulder-length bob with burgundy highlights and the straight cut fringe just above those gorgeous green eyes. She'd filled out a little and was very curvy and those tits looked amazing. She'd had some alterations made to her face but she was still the same gorgeous Mary Reynolds that he had fallen in love with.

Robert had taken a series of photographs of her this morning with a powerful telescopic lens as she had prepared to depart for the day. He was tempted to follow her, maybe force her off the road on some backroad, drag her into the back of his van and have his way with her; but this was better. He could wait for her to return and take his time with her. In the meantime he had her house all to himself to explore at his leisure. He doubted that she kept all of the money and jewellery in the house; she likely had it stashed in numbered accounts or a safe deposit box, but he bet she kept some of the loot on hand in case she needed cash in a hurry.

It was going to be fun getting her to tell him where the spoils she had stolen were hidden. He hoped that she resisted just a little, she had bewitched him, captivated him, and then played him for a fool. He loved her, but she had to pay. Oh yes, she had to pay.

And he intended to take his time about it. She had a good setup here from what he had gleaned. No reason not to stay a few days, a few weeks, maybe a few months; what could she do about it?

***

Steven Balfour was the happiest nineteen-year-old boy in the world. He had just shagged his gorgeous, sexy auntie who was more than twice his age. Losing his virginity to the woman of his dreams had been better than he could have imagined. She'd taught him things he'd never dreamed of in the scant amount of time they had spent together in his bedroom; they'd fucked three times and she'd obviously enjoyed it as much as he did because she promised him that tonight he could come to her bed.

Beatrice McLennan was sore, but sore in a good way. Her nephew had been insatiable and at the height of his sexual prowess and had stayed hard long enough to fuck her three times. Of course she felt guilty, and so she should, she was shagging her sister's son which was probably illegal and certainly immoral. But they were both consenting adults.

Her sex life had recently become a conundrum. She was shagging a teenage relative and the transsexual next door neighbour. She was certainly enjoying the spice of life. She wondered if she should discuss this new development with Abigail. She was certainly aware that Steven fancied the pants off Abigail and would likely make a pass at her. She smiled to herself as she imagined Steven's surprise when he found at that Abigail was packing a penis in her panties. Anyway, most likely Abigail would reject Steven's advances. The last thing that Abigail needed was more complications in her life.

Steven was in a good mood when he finally got out of bed. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened with his aunt and conjuring up what would happen tonight in her bed. It was a nice day outside so he decided to try to clear his mind by doing some heavy gardening in Abigail's back garden. He'd made a decent go turning the labyrinth of fruit trees and undergrowth into an almost recognisable garden. He was pleased with efforts and keen to make further improvements. Who knows, if he did a half-decent job maybe Abigail would throw him celebratory shag he chuckled to himself.

***

Abigail took scant notice of the white Transit van parked on the verge across from her house. Transit vans were like arseholes; it seemed that every tradesman, deliveryman, contractor and travelling salesman in the UK had one. She parked her BMW outside of the open garage doors so she could unload it easier. She heard Steven Balfour chopping away in the back yard and considered calling him to help her carry in her purchases but then she'd have to deal with him sniffing around her like a dog on heat. Although she had to admit that ever since the afternoon she and Beatrice had spied on the boy, which led to them making torrid love to each other, she wouldn't mind putting that large appendage of his to work. But he lived a little too close to home to strike up a dalliance with, and besides he was only nineteen and her new lover's nephew.

Robert Brinkley didn't hear Abigail's car pull up nor did he hear Steven Balfour hacking away in the back yard because the house had double-glazed windows; but her heard her key rattle in the side door leading to the kitchen. He let her put her purse and groceries down on the kitchen table before he made his presence known.

Abigail smelled the cigarette smoke as soon as she entered the kitchen. She smoked herself now and then but this was pungent fresh tobacco. She gasped when the kitchen door slammed closed behind her. She was almost too scared to turn around, a thousand thoughts ran through her mind but deep down she knew who it was.