Neighbor Girl

Neighbor Girl

Chapter 1

They must have been roses. Viewed from the outside, the curtains were light, either white or beige, with darker spots in no apparent pattern. He could remember when they, his neighbors, had first put up the curtains. What had he been, twelve? The absolute time or age did not matter; he remembered it was the summer he and Jessica had spent nearly all their time at the little lake near town, the summer when it rained so much. Of course they could not be expected to take swim suits all the time, could they? Besides, such things were a big hassle. They had fallen asleep one afternoon and been late for dinner, and their parents had come looking only to find them lying together naked on a towel. The curtains had gone up shortly after. Had it been the next day?

Jonah had not put two and two together then but he could see now how the events must have been related. Their parents had never condemned them, never made them feel as if they had done anything dirty, but there still grew between Jonah and Jessica some kind of invisible resistance, a force that kept them apart. Perhaps it was a result of the fact that, even though they had actually done nothing untoward and their time together had always been quite innocent, each of them had harbored thoughts of taking their relationship farther, to a place neither had ever been before. Their parents had enforced no change in their friendship, but the change had happened nonetheless. Perhaps, had Jonah been inclined to look, he would have seen it coming.

But now all he could see was her curtains, and all he had left were their memories.

They had not been together much, especially since high school had started two years ago. Of course there were the dances and parties where they made small talk, and the hellos in the hallway, but that sort of thing just wasn't as satisfying as really being close to her had once been. This year things were going to change, Jonah decided. If nothing else, he had an excuse to spend a little time with her now, and no one had an excuse to keep him away; she would be a varsity cheerleader and he would be a varsity linebacker. Upperclassmen could no longer claim "dibs."

Jonah took a few moments of well-earned rest before dinner, lying motionless on his bed, watching a bird through the window, letting his body relax entirely, something that wasn't easy after a long practice. He and Jessica used to climb in that tree. That had been her hideout, his lookout, either a secret lair for the criminal or the headquarters of the police. Cops and Robbers had been a favorite game of theirs and she had never liked being the cop. "The good guys should win," she explained, "and I run slower than you."

That tree had been her prison one day as well, when he hung her there by her wrists. What had driven him to do such insane things as a child? Jessica's smile and the power of suggestion, probably. It had been mostly her idea, her fault. She never played along very well. She was too easy to catch and did not put much effort into escaping, so they came up with ways to encourage her.

"If you get loose, I'll ask my mom to make some kool-aid and let us have some cookies," he remembered suggesting on that day.

"No!" she had shouted immediately. "No, you have to at least find out where I hid the loot first. Question me."

"How do I do that?"

First by tickling her in all her worst tickly places. That didn't work. She then suggested that he spank her.

It was all her idea. And he had never been more afraid than when he gave her ten good, hard swats with the palm of his hand. It wasn't the first time (after all, "birthday swats" were a tradition) but it was the first time he had done it . . . like that. He would never have been able to explain himself at the time.

That didn't work either.

She had finally asked him to do what his mother did, and he had the willow switch in hand when his mother informed them that dinner was on the table and asked if Jessica wanted to eat. They accepted, though it was only after an argument that Jonah's mother managed to get Jessica to let Jonah remove her handcuffs; Jessica did not think it was a good idea to let a prisoner free like that, but Mrs. Mitchell did not think she should eat like a dog at the table.

Even then Jonah somehow had the instinct to know that he should not be caught with the switch, the one he cast to the ground before his mother saw them, and Jessica knew enough that she tugged the bit of rope that would release her from the tree before Mrs. Mitchell rounded the corner. Even then they had known better than to get caught, even though nothing seemed immediately wrong with what they were doing.

Perhaps that was why the curtain was closed now.

He only realized that he had dozed off when he awoke to the sound of a ringing phone. He had one in his room that he never used, and by the time he dug down to the phone through a pile of clothes, the ringing had stopped and he left the phone in its cradle.

"Jonah, it's for you," his mother called from downstairs.

"Ok," he shouted back, picking up the phone. "I've got it," he said into the receiver. "Hello?"

His mother hung up before he heard anything else and then the caller said, "Wake up, sleepyhead."

She hung up immediately but Jonah already knew who had called, because he was certain that had been Jessica's voice. He looked across the distance between their houses, past the bird in their tree, and his eyes fell upon her second floor window, a little down and to the right of his. The curtains were open.

"Jonah, are you ready to eat?"

# # #

During the two weeks of two-a-day practices that preceded the beginning of school for all football players, excess energy was hard to come by. Jonah normally finished his dinner, fell into his bed, and was asleep immediately. But something about this night was not normal. The curtains were still open and the light was on.

Jonah turned on the light on his desk, on the other side of the room; it cast only shadows onto his bed where he lay, staring into Jessica's room where all her lights were on. Her bed was covered in pillows and teddy bears, a small spot cleared off on one side, probably where she slept. Her dresser held a few books, some makeup, and what looked to be a curling iron or something, a long bit of white with an electric cord sticking out the back, plugged into the wall beside the dresser.

The door opened and Jessica entered the room. She took a deep breath and stretched, then began to remove her long-sleeve blue blouse. Jonah's breath caught in his throat when she turned her back on him, leaving him to wonder what she had on underneath. The question was answered a moment later when she revealed a black sports bra, the blouse falling to the floor behind her. Her skirt followed it, leaving only a black thong to cover her womanhood. It didn't do so well at covering her ass. She turned toward him and he held his breath, waiting for her to notice his presence, thinking suddenly that she just might be able to see him.

If she did, she did not show it. She stretched once again, raising her arms together, fingers entwined, behind her back, over her head. She could not have better exhibited her bust on purpose. What was she doing? She tied back her hair and lay down on something sitting beside the dresser. Was it a weight bench? Yes it was, complete with a rack for a weight bar. He was getting to watch her work out!

The sight was a sensual experience for Jonah as she flew through her sets with the bar and with dumbbells, stopping only to set the incline on her bench so that she could do crunches, and she did them quite well. She wasn't the only one feeling the heat when she was done and stood before the mirror sweating, her breasts rising and falling with her rhythm as he gazed on her profile. She raised her arms slowly, holding them straight out from her sides, and made a bow. Did she know he was there after all?

No, it was the beginning of a dance routine. Filled with spins and kicks and leaps and clapping, it must have been a routine the cheerleaders were preparing for a pep rally, though he had doubts as to whether or not some of the edgier moves would be welcome in school and felt the cheerleaders' sponsor would probably have them tone things down a bit. The combination of the tight bra and her tight chest made for minimal bounce, but he did see what quite enough: her body was a work of art and any movement she made was poetry. Oh yes, she was beautiful.

Panting when she finished, at last out of breath, Jessica rolled her shoulders and took a seat on the bench, reaching for the white thing on the dresser. It was not a curling iron, but rather some sort of massage device, it seemed, and it looked like she was using it to work out some soreness. She gave her right shoulder special attention as well as a spot in her back, not to mention her abdominal muscles; she had driven them especially hard, and Jonah had to say that they looked exceptional for it. But then the massager slipped a little lower. One too many high kicks? Her head fell back, her mouth open. Jonah had been hard already, but now his member stood at full attention. Was it possible? Could Jessica be masturbating?

Jonah was certain that was exactly what she was doing. First Jonah's mouth hit the floor, then Jessica's panties followed suit as she continued to buzz her pussy for all she was worth, her free hand alternating between rubbing her sex and her bust. Jonah was thankful for the incline on the bench, because it meant he could see everything, from her pumping hips to her heaving tits to her flushed face, even when she lay back. It seemed like hours went by, but it could not have been long before Jessica stripped off her workout bra and began kneading her breast flesh in earnest.

Jonah watched in awe as she began pinching and pulling at her nipples, delivering exactly the sort of rough treatment he'd always been warned against by any source of sexual advice. First her left, then her right, and then her left again. She went back and forth, pinching and twisting, her mouth opening and closing, gritting her teeth. He could imagine her breath hissing out at the pain she was adding to the other exquisite sensations she was feeling. He did not have to imagine her body pulsing with lustful heat; he could see it plain as day written all over her face.

Soon Jessica was not the only one stroking herself. She opened a drawer on her dresser and produced a small bottle filled with clear liquid, which she poured over her entire front side, rubbing it into her skin with both hands. It must have been oil, but it was certainly not necessary from a visual standpoint, as she was already covered in her own natural oil and lubricant. Jonah almost wished he had some of his own, a little something to improve the feeling he was enjoying just then, but he did not think long about it. A new sight through the window distracted his thoughts: a change had come over Jessica.

She stiffened on the bench, her entire face clenched, eyes squeezed tight shut against some irresistible sensation. Her chest rose fell faster than ever before as she panted for air, unable to contain even a small lungful for more than an instant. She lay there, motionless, for only a few seconds, but in those few seconds Jonah experienced an eternity, his hand moving faster all the while. It felt so good it hurt!

And the same was true for Jessica in the other room. Her eyes and mouth flew open in the throes of her agonizing ecstasy and she jerked on the bench, her back arching back as far as it could and giving Jonah a great view of her pussy and tits, her head falling backward out of view. Jonah felt his release coming and did not fight, letting his seed spurt across the wooden floor. He could clean up later; just then all he cared about was the horny, lovely nymph in the window.

She lay motionless, limp, fulfilled, and Jonah watched the sweat drip down her body, the juice running out of her pussy. He imagined he could even hear her slow, ragged breathing. He could hear his own. And he could scarce believe what had just taken place. What a perfect moment! But like all such things, this, too, had to come to an end. Jessica, at last, rose from the bench and pulled her sweat-darkened hair free of its ponytail, then stepped through the door on the back side of her room, the one Jonah knew would take her to the upstairs bathroom.

He looked at the clock. It was getting late and he had to rise early for practice tomorrow, so he had to get to sleep. But first he took a quick shower in a vain attempt to force thoughts of Jessica from his mind. Why were the curtains open? Had she deliberately put on a show? What would she have done if she had known he was watching? For a moment he imagined a sight where the two of them, staring quite deliberately at one another, climaxed together in a shared sexual experience. No, he had to go to sleep. Fantasies like that were best saved for another day.

But why were the curtains open?

# # #

He could recall this day from years ago, but he did not see things exactly as he remembered them.

"Jonah?" Jessica called to him. Where was she at? He remembered that he had left her tied beneath the tree.

There she was, just as he had left her then, except that the rope he used on her wrists was much shorter to make up for her added height. She was standing on tiptoe to take some of her weight off her wrists and shoulders and he watched as her legs struggled to support her. She must have been there for a while already, the muscles of her calf bearing mute testimony to the long minutes she had awaited him as they shook with the strain.

It was hot outside and there was no breeze between the houses, so sweat had dampened the collar of her gray t-shirt and darkened the slopes of fabric that covered the region between her breasts. Her breathing was less than relaxed as she at last gave in and let her weight fall on her arms once again. "I'll never tell you," she teased, almost as if to reassure him. But her voice lacked the confidence it had displayed before.

"I think you'll change your mind," said Jonah, feeling far more confidence now than he had back then.

"Why don't you make me?" Her voice was anxious, but her smile bright and pure.

"I think I will."

Jessica stood on tiptoe again as Jonah began to run his fingertips over all of her most ticklish places, like the back of her neck, her armpits, the backs of her knees, her belly, the soles of her feet. He used a blade of grass to greater effect as he attacked her once again, pulling her shirt up out of the way this time to reach the soft skin of her abdomen.

"Actually, I think I should just take this thing off," he said as if talking to himself.

"You can't do that!" said Jessica, trying very hard and with only marginal success not to shout.

"Why can't I?"

Blood rushed to her face. "I'm . . ." she hesitated. ". . . I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Hmm. Well," Jonah said with a grin, "that's not much of a reason. I thought you were going to say something about your big older brother who would kick my ass."

"I don't have an older brother!"

His grin spread wider. "I know."

"No!"

"If you don't want everyone to see what you've got, why don't you just tell me what I want to hear?"

He could see the frustration in her eyes as she struggled with her options, weighing the pain of surrender against the pain of defiance . . . .

# # #

Jonah had never been more distracted by anything ever before in his life. He barely remembered the dream he'd been having just moments before his alarm clock had gone off that morning but he knew it must have been hot: he'd been feeling it all day long. There had even been a rather ticklish moment in the locker room while dressing out when she came once again unbidden to his mind and certain lifting sensations came unbidden to his loins.

And now the cheerleaders were going through their routine at the stadium while the varsity and junior varsity football teams met one another in the intersquad scrimmage. With each passing minute it was harder to keep his eyes off her, the hard nipples underneath her tight white shirt, the long legs she kept spreading and tossing into the air, the wild eyes that seemed to haunt him everywhere he turned.

What was that, the snap count? His attention returned to the field only to see the quarterback dropping back for a pass and to find his gap, the one through which he was supposed to blitz, being closed by one of the linemen. His feet tore at the grass and he barely perceived the impact, the sound of the helmets, the incredible surge of power through his arm as he flung the lineman out of the way and then broke down in front of his target.

Of course he never saw the defensive tackle who had broken through from the other side and was trying desperately *not* to hit their all-important quarterback, the one player who was off limits in practice. He did he see the too-eager young fullback who apparently didn't realize that the play was over, but even though he was prepared for the fullback . . .

. . . The next thing he knew was that he was lying on the ground and that his arm hurt. Bad.

# # #

He lay on his bed after football once again, staring at the curtains, the side of the house, the tree between them. That little old tree was much smaller now than in his dream. Jessica would never actually fit under it in real life; she had grown too much since their younger days. Not that it mattered. He had no idea what had happened yesterday, but he was certain it would never happen again. Their shared experience was a thing that would be best if soon forgotten and never revisited. Besides that, what would he do this time? His partner in crime was constrained by a cast and sling and he had never been able to get much satisfaction from his off hand. What would he do, ask Jessica for help?

And at that thought he wondered if she might have seen him the previous night. How could she have missed him when he could see her so clearly? The thought made his heart beat faster in fear: what might she do? That had to be why the curtains were closed. He suddenly wondered at what the consequences might be. But then again, he reassured himself, could she possibly have been paying attention to him with her concentration fixed so firmly on her own pleasure?

But then his mind wandered back to his original question: why had the curtains been open to begin with?

He didn't want to think about it anymore. He wanted dinner to be ready so that he could eat and go to bed. After a long day like this, his only hope was to look forward to tomorrow. Tomorrow was Saturday, after all; why shouldn't things be better then? And why hadn't his mother called yet? He rose from his bed and plodded downstairs to see if he could just make a sandwich and get things over with for the night.

It looked like peanut butter was out of the question since it required two hands. He took the ham from the refrigerator and placed it and the bread on the table while he went to ask his mother if there was any mustard left in the house.

"Jonah, is that you?" she asked, her back turned on him while she concentrated on his little brother's math homework.

"Yeah," said Jonah, and he asked about the mustard.

"No, honey, I think I used the last of it the other night," she answered, tapping a few numbers into her calculator.

He shrugged and started back toward the kitchen.

"Wait a minute, honey," she said before he was quite gone. "Jessica called again today. She said she was sorry to hear about your arm and she was wondering if you'd let her sign the cast or help carry your books, that sort of thing. She said she had a lot of homework, but that it would be all right if you came by this evening after dinner."

Feelings of anticipation and dread rose in his stomach. What did she really want to see him about? But he said, "All right. Well, I'll head over in a minute, then."

"So soon?" his mother asked, glancing up at the clock on the wall. "Oh! I forgot about dinner! You'd better call Jessica and tell her that you'll be late."

"You're cooking something after all?"

"Of course. Just tell her that you'll be over at nine o'clock and not eight."

# # #

He rung Durhams' doorbell and stood outside for a moment before Mrs. Durham answered, swinging open the door with a smile. "Oh, Jonah, how do you feel?"

"I'm all right, Mrs. Durham," said Jonah, entering as she beckoned him inside.

"I'm so glad you called," said Mrs. Durham. "Jessica seemed quite worried about you. But she's been up in her room studying for a good two or three hours now so there's a good chance she's fallen asleep. Why don't you just go wake her up?"

There must have been a thousand things running through his mind as he mounted those stairs, things ranging from wondering how he smelled to thinking about what he would say, pondering whether or not to mention last night, trying to guess what she might do when she saw him. Not one of them had anything to do with his cast or her signing it or her carrying his books for him or anything of the sort.

All innocence was washed away in that moment and it seemed there was no pure thing left in the world that he could not defile by simply looking at it. Like the light switch at the top of the stairs. Why did he feel so guilty just now, all of a sudden? Why hadn't he had the same feelings yesterday? And why shouldn't she be at least partially to blame? After all, it was she who had led him into this in the first place; what kind of slut masturbated before an open window while knowing her horny neighbor would be looking on? That bitch! It was all her fault to begin with.

And exactly that thought was on his mind when he knocked on the door and got no answer, and when he opened the door and saw nothing because the lights were off, and when he turned on the lights . . .

. . . And there she was.

Jessica was lying naked on the weight bench and facing the door, which he quickly shut while his eyes tried to drink in as much of the sight before him as he could. Each of her hands was handcuffed to one of the sturdy posts, welded to the frame of the bench, that were intended to support a weight bar, leaving her smoothly muscled arms entirely immobile, though not strained. Her wonderful legs were bound to the weight bar by a pair of cable ties at each end, pulling her apart at the middle and leaving the insides of her shapely thighs exposed, not to mention everything in between them. The bar was loaded with a hundred pounds of weights and itself weighed in at 50 pounds, so there was nothing much she could do to hide her nudity even had she so desired. Buried in her sex was the massager to which Jonah had been introduced the previous day, and he could see it was turned on at the highest setting. And she had no idea what was going on.

He could see the blue rubber line running out of one of her ears, across her neck, and into the other ear: earplugs. They went quite well with the handkerchief she'd tied over her eyes in order to blind herself. Perhaps she had heard him knock or even enter, but she had no idea who he was. She did not know who was drinking in her exposed beauty, watching the sweat of her lust pour off her body, staring at her bosom as it rose and fell at a harried pace, carried on, faster, harder, like the beat of her heart, on the pounding waves of her ravenous hunger, the horrific pleasure emanating from her pussy.

He played with the clothespins that gnawed at her nipples, horrible yellow plastic ones that he remembered as being hurtful to his fingers, and thought how they must have been pure agony for Jessica. And she could only wonder at who her tormentor might be as she squirmed under his treatment, biting at her lip to keep silent when he twisted one clothespin all the way around and then let go. She should have gagged herself, he thought, and slipped his finger into her hole alongside the vibrator.

She whimpered.

Her whole body already shined, illumined by her sweat and by the hot desk light he now trained on her, but he decided she needed something more. He looked in her desk drawer, took out the bottle he had seen her use before, and drizzled it liberally over her tanned flesh, letting the cool oil contrast with her hot skin as he blew over her body, intensifying the sensations. It wasn't until just before he began to massage the oil into her skin that he read the label and realized that the oil was not simply a lubricant, but was also spiced somehow, that she would be far more than just the heat of the lamp in a moment. Of course that didn't stop him.

In fact, he paid special attention to her most sensitive areas. He tried to be sensual, caressing, and yet firm all at once, not easy things to accomplish gracefully with only one hand. And yet, judging only from the frayed gasps with which she now caught her breath, he could only feel he must have been doing something right. His eyes fell on the nipples he had left alone until now and he poured extra oil on top of them before removing his sling in direct disobedience of his doctor's orders: those had to come off all at once, he decided. He removed her earplugs.

"Shhh," he warned, careful not to allow his voice to show through his command.

His fingers came to rest on the peaks of her chest and he waited a moment to allow everything to build, preparing to remove the clothespins and watch her attempt to contain her response.

"Wait!" a small voice interrupted, a whisper on the verge of breaking into a sob. "I can't . . ." she protested, finding difficulty in speaking. "I'll cry. I can't keep quiet if you do that."

He released a sigh of disappointment. Was she backing down now, finally, for the first time?

But she had not finished. "There's a gag in the other drawer. Jam that in my mouth and . . ." she hesitated, taking a deeper breath. "And then you can do it."

The drawer squeaked when he opened it and again when he closed it, and he held the red gag to her lips for only an instant before her mouth opened and she accepted it, moaning something that sounded like, "Thank you."

"Are you ready?" he asked, finally allowing her to hear him.

Her whole body tensed, her fine muscles jerking taut at the sound of his voice. Was this the moment she had been waiting for?

She nodded.

"You look like you need to cum."

She began to tremble.

"Do you think you can?"

She nodded.

"Even with all the pain?"

She nodded.

"Then do it."

And she did, as soon as the clothespins were off. Her arms pulled at the handcuffs until he was afraid she would cut open her wrists, her every muscle jerked and spasmed and her breast flesh twitched and bounced while her abdomen lurched, her legs kicking out and pulling the weight off the floor as her cunt seemed about to devour the vibrator. She shook her head, slinging her hair and her sweat in every direction, her face etched in what seemed a parody of either pain or pleasure at the sheer power of her feelings.

Jonah slowly, gently, pulled the vibrator from her hole and took the gag from her mouth, stroking her sweat-drenched cheek and rubbing a bit of drool into her face. He bent to kiss her, like a prince awakening a sleeping beauty, and the feel and taste of her lingered on his lips as he withdrew. With one last caress he swept the hair from before her eyes and loosened the blindfold, pulling it down around her neck.

"Thank you," she gasped when she could stop panting long enough, tears in her eyes.

"You're welcome," said Jonah, taking the key he spotted on the desk and using it to free her hands. He saw a pair of nail clippers beside it and, satisfied that she could get herself free, turned out the light and turned to go.

"Wait!"

He turned to look at her once again.

She smiled, one of those peaceful, satisfied smiles, and said, "You look like you need to cum."