A Neighbourly Greeting

I’m new to the area, having just moved into this house a month ago. I haven’t even had chance to meet the other people here, beyond polite ‘hello!’s.

It’s Saturday afternoon, on a cold day in December. Since this new house has a log burner I’ve availed myself of it, and a fire is burning nicely.

There’s a knock at the door.

Fucksake, I think to myself. Can’t a guy have a little peace? I consider not answering it, but I don’t want to start getting a reputation as a recluse.

I open the door to find an attractive woman standing there - you. I dimly remember that you live a few doors up. You’re tall, perhaps just a little overweight but in a way I find very appealing. Your name, I remember now, is M.

“Come in,” I say. “Excuse the mess only I haven’t tidied. Like, at all.”

You laugh. “No worries. You should see my place. I just wanted to pop in, welcome you. Get to know you a little better. If that’s okay..?”

“Absolutely,” I reply. “Sorry I haven’t invited people round but I’ve been rushed off my feet what with work, the house move, you know.”

You nod. “Where’s...C, is it?”

C. My wife.

“Stoke-on-Trent,” I reply. You raise your eyebrows at me.

“Was it something you said?”

I laugh. “No, her Dad lives there. She’s visiting. Comes back Wednesday.”

“So I’ve got you to myself today, then?”

What? I think to myself. I can’t have just heard that.

“Er..?” I croak. “Come through, please.”

You walk into what I rather pretentiously call the Snug.

“Please, take a seat,” I gesture. You drape yourself onto the sofa.

“Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee..?”

“I’d love something a little...harder,” you reply with a twinkle.

What? I think, again.

I disappear, then reappear with two large whiskies. I hand one of them to you, add another log to the fire, then park myself in an armchair. I take a badly-needed sip.

We chat. I find out that you’re not married, and run your own business. Something to do with content-creation, although you don’t go into specifics. I in turn fill you in on my life. Happily married, both employed, etc.

There’s an odd expression on your face when I get to the ‘happily married’ bit.

“Tell me about you and C,” you ask.

“Not much to tell, really. We’re a bit odd in that we were both each others’ first. And, to the best of my knowledge, only. I know I haven’t been unfaithful, and I’ve no reason to believe C ever has either. It’s just…”

“Just what?” you ask.

“This...gets a bit personal. Romantically we’re great. Love each other totally. But…”

You look at me silently. Cock an eyebrow.

“er...sexually, there’s...well, nothing happening. C got sick a few years ago. When she recovered, her sex drive had just vanished. She’s tried a few things but nothing’s there. And I don’t like making her try to just indulge me. Feels a bit too rape-y, because I know she doesn’t really want to. It’s not her fault.”

“That must be hard,” you reply. You have no idea, I think.

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Aren’t you tempted to...well…”

“Yes,” I reply honestly. “She’s even given me permission, provided I’m discreet. Sorry, this must sound like the most obvious come-on since ‘Gosh, that’s a smashing blouse you’re wearing’.”

You laugh. I like hearing you laugh, I realise. “So, come on then. You must have indulged that a time or two?”

I shake my head.

“Seriously?” you say in astonishment. “Your wife has given you actual permission to have sex with other women and you haven’t ?!”

I look a little embarrassed. “Nope. Part of it is the whole ‘loyalty’ thing. Once you break those bonds they stay broken. Yes, I know she gave me permission, but even so. I’m stupid, okay? Also, I genuinely wouldn’t know where to begin. It’s, er, been a while.”

“So what you’re saying is, I’m alone in a house with a strange man who’s very, very horny and hasn’t had sex in a few years?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but…” I start.

“Then I really must be careful what I say and do,” you state.

And then undo the top three buttons on your shirt. It opens slightly, enough for me to see your bra. Your breasts are nicely sized. And I suddenly realise I can see your nipples poking through the material.

I very, very carefully put my drink down, using hands that have started to shake slightly.

“It’s very warm in here,” you explain.

I’m now completely off-balance. Which is, I suspect, your intent.

You lean back on the sofa. The action pulls your shirt, blouse, whatever, open a bit more. The view is extremely interesting. My mouth goes dry.

“So,” you say, a wicked grin on your face. “Come on. We’re both adults. Tell me what you’d like to do.”

I blush. I actually blush. I’ve not blushed since my wife wanked me off in the back of a bus oh-so-many years ago.

You continue. “Let’s just say, for sake of argument, that I offered to let you do anything you wanted with me. Anything. With me. To me. As much as you wanted. What would you do?”

I am painfully erect and trying my level best to hide it.

“Kiss you,” I say, frankly.

“What?” you ask in surprise. “You could do almost anything you’d like to with me, and you’d...kiss me?” you ask, clearly wondering if I’m alright in the head. Truth be told I’m not sure the answer to that would be ‘yes’.

“To begin with, anyway. I’d just kiss you. Get to know you. I’d start out gentle but, trust me, within a minute I’d be snogging you. Like a teenager who is finally alone with the girl he wants and who wants him. No romance. No love. Just passion. Lust. Hormones. Pent-up tension.”

I breath out sharply. “Very pent-up,” I add with feeling.

Then I sigh, a little sadly. “But it’s irrelevant. I know I’m not someone that women look at and think ‘Yes, I’d like a slice of that, please’. I look like a bad James May cosplayer. I’m...nothing.”

“You

You pat the seat next to you on the sofa.

“Show me,” you whisper.

Make or break time, J, I think to myself. Point-of-no-return. If you do this it stays done.

I want to do it. I’ve got permission to do it, not just from my wife but you. I know nothing bad is going to happen because I know you could stop me with a single word, but because I’m such a stupid man I’m still having issues.

I get up, try to move to you. And fail. It’s like my legs have been switched off.

You stand up, clearly seeing I’m having some trouble with the whole ‘acceptance’ thing. You walk up to me and whisper into my ear “Let me make it very clear, J. I want you. I want you in me. I want you to fuck me. Use me. Use my body for your pleasure. I want you to fucking breed me. Cum in me. Do not try to please me. The best way you can pleasure me is to not care about it. Have me. Use me. For today, at least, I’m your paid-for whore. Your little slut who’s only happy being pumped full of cum and who’ll do almost anything you make her do.”

I breath out strongly again. “You’re asking me to dominate you,” I say, stating the bloody obvious but needing it to be said. You shake your head.

“I’m not asking. I’m telling. That’s what I want. What I enjoy.”

“I don’t do pain,” I say. “Well, nothing much above pinch/spank levels. I won’t hurt you, even if you want me to. I can’t. Also, given what we’re about to do…” Jesus Skateboarding Christ, this is real! “...I want...need...a safe-word. I strongly suggest ‘cabbage’. If either of us says that, we both break off. Yes?”

I have to say that.

You laugh gently. “’Cabbage’. I like that. You’re a weird one though, you know? Here I am, practically begging you to use me like a cheap whore and the first thing you think of is my safety? That’s rare. Very rare.”

Then you reach down, take one of my hands, and place it inside your blouse directly on your bra. I feel your nipple, rigid against my palm.

“Shall we begin?” you whisper.