Saturday, September 17, 2011


I bought my house a year ago as a short sale. The previous owner was underwater and owed more than the house was ever going to be worth, and so I got a very good deal.  One thing I didn’t count on was the isolation that my new suburban home would provide me.  Yes, there were other homes, technically, all around me, but they all were marked with those familiar green and white signs from the local realtor, who was evidently making a very good living putting them up.  Of the sixteen homes that were in my area, thirteen were vacant, and the ones that were occupied were on the other end of the block, a good half-mile away.  O, the new American dream!

I did appreciate the quiet, and I was assured that it would not stay like this forever, after the economy turned around and all, but I was still finding myself getting the symptoms of cabin fever some weekends. Some days in the month, if I had stocked up enough at the store, I was going the entire two days without talking with another living soul.  It’s just me in my house, I didn’t get married to buy mine, but I don’t even have a cat to become Crazy Catherine the Cat Lady with.

The arrival of the rented yellow moving truck to the house next to mine immediately made my day, without even seeing who was inside.  It could have been a serial killer with a collection of heads on spikes for all I cared.  Fortunately, a husband and wife popped out of the cab.

I saw them arrive from my kitchen, and I walked out to greet them.  The husband, Tom, was wearing black denim jeans and a blue t-shirt, and was very friendly from the moment I stepped out.  I was wearing a flirty sundress, which usually gets the attention of men, but not once did he stare or make a crude remark as men are wont to do.  He was simply very talkative with me, and we did so for a few minutes, as his wife opened the truck and started to pull out boxes.  He was in telecommunication sales, and like me a year and a half ago, was quite excited that he was able to finally buy his own home.  

She, Becky, wore very short cotton shorts which showed off her long smooth tan legs.  Instead of a t-shirt, she wore a simple bikini top, which looked as if it was knitted rather than a real swimsuit. The rest of her was essentially uncovered, and I watched as she climbed into the back of the truck and took box after box into the new home.  As I watched her bend over I saw that she had a fantastic figure, and although I occasionally saw her rear peak out of her shorts, I never saw a hint of a thong or any panties.

“Should we help her?” I asked Tom.  “It looks like she’s doing quite a bit.”

“Oh, no,” Tom chuckled.  “We have the movers coming tomorrow, they’re bringing the really heavy stuff.  This stuff is just our personal belongings, and we had a deal.  I packed it up all last week, and she’s in charge of hauling it into the house. Isn’t that right, hon?”

Becky simply stood and saluted with a smile, and got right back to the boxes.  Tom and I continued talking for a few minutes more, promising to exchange recipes and do all of that “neighborly shit” in the future.  I was glad Tom and Becky had the same crude sense of humor that I did.

That afternoon, I was folding laundry in my master bedroom, and found that I had a fairly good bird’s eye view into the moving process.  Becky worked tirelessly, lugging box after box, while Tom was nowhere to be seen.  I reasoned that he must be inside, organizing the boxes she was bringing in, making sure they went to each room accordingly.  It was a good husband and wife team, and she was working up quite a sweat out there.

I poked my head out again and saw both Tom and Becky out there, taking one large wooden object out of the back of the truck.  It was evidently the last item and took the both of them to unload the awkward structure.  It looked to be a large wooden rack, with two large beams down the middle with five planks secured across.  It was a bit heavy, and even though Tom had muscles, he still relied on Becky to take one of the ends as they carefully moved it out of the truck.  I saw that it was painted all black and quickly taken into the garage.  After that, they closed up the truck and drove off, evidently finished with that phase of their move.

That night was another sleepless night for me, and I was doing what I normally did to bring on the sandman: sleepy-time tea and writing in my den.  I looked at the clock and realized it was two in the morning, and time for me to finally turn in and try to sleep again.  I turned out the light to my den, but I saw more light coming through the curtains, emanating from my neighbor’s backyard.  I was just about to turn around and close the door when I heard a loud slap and a female voice scream “Yes, Master!” from behind the curtains.  

My mouth dropped a bit, not at all unfamiliar with what “Yes, Master” meant when screamed after a large slap.  It was obviously Becky’s voice, and I hesitated a bit before I ventured to the curtains to see.  This was a private thing between the two of them, but my curiosity demanded me to investigate.  I parted the curtain and peered across the fence, and into their new backyard.

Becky’s knitted bikini top hung from the clothesline, lazily swaying in the evening breeze.  Her shorts were crumpled up below the clothesline, and Becky herself was kneeling on the grass just a few feet away.  Of course, she was completely nude, with her hands held behind her head, keeping any shred of modesty she had far away.  She certainly was not overweight at all, but she still had a little bit of a tummy, which made her breasts nice and plump.  They heaved as she breathed heavily, obviously just recovering from the loud slap I heard.  The backyard was flooded with light, fortunately, so I could even make out the fading red mark which she wore on her right breast like a badge of honor.

Tom was standing above her fully clothed still in what he was wearing previously, holding a riding crop, and the obvious source of the scream.  He stood over her, talking to her, but of course through the window, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.  Becky nodded obediently with everything Tom was saying, and shrieked again as the riding crop landed again on her breasts.  Her hands stayed interlocked behind her head through the whole ordeal, and she did nothing to cover or protect herself from these swats.  
I decided that it was important for me to find out what they were saying, and so I very carefully opened the patio door of the den and stealthily crept out and onto the deck.  The deck provided a clear vantage point for me, but I still had to crawl on my hands and knees to keep from being discovered, keeping myself out of view from their backyard.

“You like our new house, slut?” Tom asked.  He used slut so fluidly, and it was obvious that this was probably a second name for her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“It’s nice we only have one neighbor, right?  That offers us a lot of freedom?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Did you like how you met her, slut?  In your short shorts and bra?”

“No, Master.” she said.  My ears perked at this, not expecting any defiance from her, and surprised that I had made it into their kinky play, even if I was just there in spirit.  

I was feeling a bit light-headed, a natural high from doing something naughty. I could also feel my pussy getting a bit turned on, and my nipples hardened at the sensation of being outside in just my nightgown.  Given all these factors, and the fact I was well hidden, I reached under my nightgown and slipped off my panties to give myself a bit of air.  It was awkward to do this on the patio, but my pussy rewarded me by becoming more wet and sensitive.

Tom was not mad at Becky’s response, and it was obviously an expected part of the give and take.  “Why is that slut?  Did you think you would meet her wearing a business suit?”

“No, Master,” she said, “You rescued me from that life a long time ago.  I was displeased that I did not get the chance to show more to her.  My natural, available state is always my most comfortable.”

Tom’s crop whooshed again, and another familiar slap was heard as it stung Becky’s breast.  Fortunately, I was able to see the scene clearly from my vantage point, and remain hidden.  “You are quite the slut,” he declared.  “On your face, now.”

Becky followed the order and faced down, her hands still firmly clasped behind her head.  Her elbows made contact with the ground first, breaking her fall, and she stretched out her back, finally resting her forehead on a grass patch.  Tom raised the crop and started spanking her ass, and she took it professionally.  She didn’t squirm or wince once, and I even heard the faint “Thank you, Master” in between strokes.

Becky’s ass became quite red, and I knew that she would be feeling the swats for at least a full day after.  Tom finally stopped, his arm probably getting a bit sore.  “What do you have to say for yourself, slut?” he asked almost panting.

Becky rose up and applied her best puppy dog pleading face.  “Can we fuck now, Master?”

Tom smiled and laid next to her, unzipping his jeans and exposing his erect cock.  It was hard to tell from my distance, but I judged it to be a good seven inches.  Becky immediately jumped on to it, impaling herself on it through her pussy.  She gasped and moaned loudly, saying no words as she ground her hips and found a natural rhythm.  She panted, and rocked her head from side to side, her dirty blond hair obscuring her face.  

“Fuck, you are such a tight slut,” he proclaimed, and she giggled.  “Are you going to be a slut for the movers tomorrow?”

Becky nodded enthusiastically as she fucked Tom.  “Oh, yes,” she panted.  “I don’t have anything else to wear, though, so I may just have to be naked.”  She suddenly collapsed onto Tom, bracing her self against the grass, grasping at the lawn.  Her gyrations stopped as wave after wave of orgasm shot through her lithe body.  She kissed him, and asked, “Please?” and I knew at that moment, Tom was cumming inside of her pussy.  Tom sighed and stroked her hair, “Thank you, Master,” she whispered into his ear.

I was very wet, but I also didn’t want to even try masturbating on the deck.  As much as I wanted to tear my nightgown off right there and finger my pussy until the fire within cooled, I also knew there was a very comfortable bed waiting for me, and I would be able to relive this moment many times the next time I felt that lonely tingle.

The next day was Sunday, and after waking up late, I was finally stepping out of the door at one, off to do a little shopping.  Tom and Becky were directing the movers and she was wearing that same bikini top and shorts that I had seen her in the day before.  It wasn’t naked, but it did show me that she really didn’t have anything else to wear.

Attached to my door was a handwritten note, which I opened immediately and read:

Hi Catherine,

If you ever want to borrow her for a night, let me know.  I do baking sometimes, so I may borrow a cup of sugar from time to time, and so you’re welcome to my things.


I smiled broadly and looked over at Becky, who was watching me read the note.  She winked, and I nodded with a devilish grin.

1 comment:

  1. Dear Asporina, I love your quiet, unassuming style. Because you don't flaunt yourself, I am giving you this award: The Versatile Blogger Award. For details please see here: I hope it brings you many hours of quiet pleasure.