Neighbourly Relations Ch. 03

For the next two days I basically ignored her.

I wanted to keep her waiting, and also to see how eager she was, whether was going to make special efforts to try and attract my attention and be disappointed that I hadn't gotten in touch with her again yet. It's not easy to try and think about other things when you know you have a woman downstairs who's basically prepared to drop her knickers for you any time you go down there and ask, but that wasn't the way this relationship, or whatever it was, was going to be played.

The next time I saw her was on the Monday evening, the best part of a day and a half since our exertions in my flat the previous day. I got home late from work, tired and a little irritable, although my heart still leapt slightly when I got into the main hallway of the building in which I lived and saw her there, just about to enter the doorway of her own flat. I wondered whether she'd been waiting there for a while, just trying to catch me as I got back from work and pretending she happened to be there by chance, hoping to catch my eye. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a loose white top, and looked as gorgeous as ever, bright and perky and sparky.

"Hello!" she greeted me enthusiastically as I closed the main door behind me. I looked at her for a second, thinking through all the things I could say, but I elected to treat it as just another chance meeting between two people who happen to be neighbours. I responded in exactly the same way I would have done any time before Saturday.

"Hi."

I didn't even hang around to see what the look on her face was like, simply heading up the stairs to my own flat. She seemed to pause there by her door for a few moments longer though as there was a brief interval before I heard her own door open, and she headed back inside.

If she was hoping for a friendly chat, or a Monday evening session of game playing, then she was going to be disappointed. We couldn't do this every day, after all – not simply because it would lose its magic, but because I wanted to keep her waiting, aching and yearning. It would also make it all the more difficult for her to keep her promise that way, too.

Nonetheless, I thought about her a lot, of course. How could I not, after the weekend we'd had? I thought about her pretty much all the time, remembering, fantasising, trying to decide how I was going to play this, what I was going to do next. I'd been in a daze at work that day, my mind spinning with all of it, and I still half-feared that I was going to wake up and find that it was all a dream.

Tuesday morning I saw her again – this time before work, as I noticed out of the window of my flat that the postman was exiting our building. Heading downstairs to check to see if I'd had anything delivered, I saw that she was already there by the door, scanning through the envelopes. She had a purple top and a long grey skirt on, the top low cut giving me a good view of her cleavage once more, the gap between her breasts accentuated today by a dark pendant she wore, which hung down so low around her neck it was almost between them.

"Good morning," I said to her as I stood mere inches away, looking through the discarded letters that she'd left on the mat, not for her.

"Morning," she replied casually, clearly having realised that we were supposed to be pretending to barely know one another, even though there was nobody else around. Had there been, there was no way they could ever have guessed the things we'd done together only days beforehand.

This time she didn't wait to see if I said any more, merely heading back into her flat as I went back upstairs to mine, to finish getting ready for work. She'd made a good show of seeming supremely indifferent towards me, and at work that day I began to worry that perhaps my attitude had put her off, and she assumed that I didn't want to have anything to do with her any more.

Those fears were dispelled on Tuesday evening. She wasn't around when I arrived home, but after I'd been back in my flat for a little while I emerged from the shower and was walking through to my bedroom when I noticed a little slip of white paper on the floor by the front door. Curious, I walked over to it and saw that it wasn't paper but an envelope, left blank with no writing upon it. Bending down I picked it up – it hadn't been sealed, but left unstuck with the flap tucked in to the main body. There was a letter inside, a short one written neatly in black ink on a sheet of lined paper that seemed to have been torn from a notebook.

It was, of course, from her. She must have slipped it under the door while I'd been in the shower, or perhaps earlier in the day and I'd simply missed it when I'd come in from work. Either way, I read it with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

Ian –

I just wanted to say, if you don't want to carry on with what we've started, that's fine. I've enjoyed it, and I hope you have to. But I want to carry it on, more than anything else in the world.

Do you?

I hope so.

I'm yours, I hope you know that by now. Anything you want to do to me, you can. Anything you want from me, you can take.Anything.

Your obedient slut,

Jane

I was always going to get back in touch with her anyway, of course. But something about way she signed off, 'Your obedient slut', just did it for me. I was hard for her even from that brief little note, and I knew that the time had come to put her out of her misery.

A quick phone call put the arrangements I needed in place, and then I dialled her number. I didn't know it, but as I knew the address and the name of course it was easy enough to get from directory enquiries, and mercifully she wasn't ex-directory. I felt my anticipation grow as the tone dialled, and I just hoped she hadn't gone out.

Click.

"Hello?"

That wonderful voice, soft and gentle but at the safe time refined and articulate.

"Hello slut."

"Hello sir!"

Even her attempt to sound submissive couldn't disguise the excitement and the glee in her voice, but I didn't mind that. I was grinning myself – this was again a rather more playful moment, perhaps.

"I hope you've been behaving yourself, like a good girl?"

"Yes sir," she replied enthusiastically. "Although it is very difficult."

"Of course's it's difficult. If it weren't, the rewards wouldn't be so great, would they?"

She sighed in pleasure, doubtless from the tacit confirmation that there would be some sort of a reward for her eventually, and whispered a croaked-voice little:

"No sir."

"Good. Anyway, I can't talk for long. The Cantina, Mexican restaurant, St Philip's Road, do you know it?"

She seemed surprise at the question.

"Yes sir, I do," she replied, the curiosity evident in her voice.

"Good. Friday, eight o'clock. Table for two. Don't be late. Oh, and wear a nice dress."

I hung up before she could reply, having given all the relevant information. Three days to wait – that wasn't long. Now, I just had to hope everything went according to plan with the other arrangements I had in mind for the evening…

To her credit she was very good at keeping up the pretence of no acquaintance as those three days ticked past. We met a couple of times in the hallway and despite a look of longing, some desperate desire for a spark of recognition from me in her eyes, she said nothing other than the most cursory of 'Hellos' whenever we saw one another. I ached to be with her as much as she did for me, but I'd set my mind for how to play things, at least for the time being, and I wasn't going to deviate from that. If things developed further between us as the days and weeks went by then… Well, we'd see how it went.

I didn't see her at all during the day on Friday, not in the morning, not when I got back from work, not once. I showered and changed and left the building at about seven thirty for the walk down to St Philip's, but whether she left before or after me I didn't see her at all on the journey, enjoying the walk through the pleasant summer evening.

Nevertheless, there she was waiting for me outside the restaurant once I got there, standing looking a little nervous with her hands clasped around her handbag, clutched tightly to her stomach. I almost didn't recognise her at first, as she looked positively ten years younger – radiant, really. She'd had a haircut, her hair was a little shorter now bobbing just around the level of her cheeks, and she was wearing the most gorgeous little red dress – short hemline, low cut, showing off both her wonderful legs and her shapely arms. In short, she looked absolutely gorgeous. She broke into a grin as she saw me approach, and walked a few steps towards me along the pavement in her matching red shoes.

"Hello sir," she said quietly, nervously, looking furtively around at the other people walking along the street. I appreciated the gesture, and was really quite touched by it – a demonstration of subservience out and about in public. However, that wasn't really why we were here, not tonight.

"I think we can dispense with the honorifics tonight, don't you?" I suggested as I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled gorgeous too, and positively giggled with surprise and delight at the way I was treating her.

"Ian then?" she asked, unsure.

"And Jane," I confirmed, offering her my arm which she eagerly took, and I led her into the restaurant.

Very soon we were seated at the booked table, a nice little spot in the corner by the window. It was a busy night, but we had some degree of privacy there, which I was grateful for.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, indicating her shortened hair.

"Not at all," I assured her. "You look lovely."

She smiled bashfully, seeming like a teenager on her first date, despite the fact that she must surely have done this sort of thing many times before, unlike the other activities we'd recently been indulging in together. Now though, we were simply on a date – a man in his mid twenties and a woman in her late thirties might not be the most usual of pairings perhaps, but it was not the most outrageous of age differences. Besides which, I didn't give a damn for that – she was by far the most attractive and most interesting woman I'd met for some time.

We chatted idly about all sorts of things over the starters, and it was not until a few glasses of wine had flowed and we were well into our main courses, relaxed and chatting and laughing, that I began to think about pressing her a little on the whys and wherefores of what we were doing, and just who she was really. I was glad that we seemed compatible outside of sex, anyway – we seemed to share a similar sense of humour and interests in some similar things. Speaking comfortably and happily like that, it was incredible to believe that the previous weekend she'd been tied down bent over my living room table having her sex spanked. It was as if that Jane and Ian were two different people – we were now a separate couple just getting to know each other for the first time.

"So when did you first become interested in bondage?" I asked her quietly, with false confidence – despite everything I felt as if I were prying a little. She was just swallowing a mouthful of wine as I asked her, and she almost choked on it. I smiled at her surprise, but as she looked around to see how near the other diners were, she knew that despite her surprise and embarrassment she had to reply.

"I suppose I've always known, really," she explained, toying with the stem of the wine glass as she held it in her hands. "You know… When there were films on TV that had scenes like that… I'd always be interested. Excited. I'd think about it sometimes…"

"But you never tried it?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"I can't imagine there are many men who'd turn down their girlfriend's request to be tied up and spanked," I pointed out, enjoying her squirm as I was so explicit. I knew that nobody would be able to hear or care what we were saying.

"I… I suppose I was embarrassed," she explained, fidgeting with her fork and looking down at her plate, the meal on which she had almost finished. "I was ashamed, I suppose. I felt guilty. I thought it was something I had to keep secret, hidden away."

"But you don't feel like that now?"

She shook her head more confidently, smiling again.

"No, not with you. It's different this time. It's…"

She thought about how to phrase it. As she did so, I moved my foot to rub gently against hers, running the side of my shoe softly up and down her lower leg playfully.

"Exciting?" I whispered. "Kinky? Arousing? Thrilling?"

She half-closed her eyes and nodded, sighing, as she moved her own foot to rub in turn against my leg.

"All of that," she confessed. "You make me feel like… Like there's nothing to be ashamed of. That's it's natural, right… I can't remember ever feeling this good about anything, ever. I feel… Free."

"Me too," I assured her. She grinned, positively glowing with pride.

The waiter came over, briefly interrupting our little intimate chat and asking if we wanted to make any dessert orders. I've always been partial to a bit of ice cream and she seemed keen, so we both placed orders. As we waited for the desserts to arrive, I steered the conversation back toward our favourite subject.

"And you've still been good?" I asked her.

She nodded eagerly.

"Oh yes. Very good."

"It's difficult I bet."

"Yes. Especially given…"

She broke off, looking down and smiling in embarrassment.

"Go on," I prompted her, trying to sound reassuring.

"Especially when I think about what you've done to me… What I'd like you to do to me. All the time. I can't help it, it's just so wonderful. I can't stop thinking about being tied to your table like that, the feelings…"

The waiter arrived with the desserts, and even though it was unlikely he'd overheard anything she went crimson with embarrassment. I laughed at her squirming, and when she'd cooled down a little with some ice cream I asked her, as calmly as I could despite my own excitement:

"So you think about it a lot then…? When you're in the shower, for instance, your fingers don't trail down…?"

She looked positively forlorn, at the same time her eyes sparkling with the hideous enjoyment of being teased.

"God…" she sighed. "You really love turning the screw don't you?"

I grinned viciously.

"No more than you love having it turned."

With surprising frankness, she replied:

"I'd ratherbe screwed."

And God how I would love to do it. And I would, we both knew that. And it would be wonderful, but not yet.

"All in good time," I assured her. "In the meantime…"

I reached into the pocket of my jacket, hanging behind me on the chair, and pulled out the small plastic bag that had been waiting in there all night. There were no markings on the bag, no indication of what was inside, although the shape alone gave away that it was a box – what was inside the box of course she would have no idea. Placing it on the table, I slid it across toward her as her eyes followed it, curious.

"Take that, and go to the toilet and put it on," I instructed her quietly. "Then come back here. Oh, and you can take your knickers off while you're there – bring them back here to me. I quite fancy a souvenir of this evening – battle honours, if you like."

She looked for a moment as if she might protest, staring at the bag in front of her as if she were afraid it might explode. Nonetheless, after a moment she picked it up and pushed her chair back, moving across the restaurant towards the ladies' toilet. I smiled as I watched her walk off, those long shapely legs moving elegantly under that lovely short dress. I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she came back.

What I'd handed her in that bag was something I had never actually believed existed. I thought it was pure fiction, something you only ever see or hear about in sex stories online or the fantasies of porn film makers, but after visits to three shops necessitating a train journey to a larger neighbouring town, I'd actually managed to discover that not only were they real, but I'd been able to buy one. Now I just had to hope it actually worked.

It was a strap-on, remote-controlled clitoral stimulator. Bloody expensive too I thought, but if it worked it would be worth every penny. A small, thin, piece of plastic, it was moulded on one side to fit snugly against her most private of parts when worn using the attached straps. Undetectable under clothing, it came with a small remote control that allowed the controller – i.e. me – to activate the stimulator from a distance of up to thirty feet. Inside the plastic was a small battery-powered electrical vibrator, which caused it to hum and buzz against the clitoris, basically… well, stimulating it. The clue was in the name.

I'd left it in the box so she'd know what it was and what it was for, although that much would probably have been pretty obvious anyway. I had, of course, removed the remote control already, and said device was now nestling comfortably in the pocket of my trousers. After taking the last mouthful of my ice cream, I ordered two coffees from the waiter and slipped my hand down to the control, waiting.

She was a little longer than I expected her to be, and I became anxious that she was going to storm out, point-blank refusing to wear the thing. But finally she emerged, plastic bag in one hand, her other curled into a fist, a stubbornly determined look on her face as she sat back down. She placed the box on the table, sliding it back toward me, and I picked it up – it was lighter, definitely empty. I smiled at her, proud, as I put the box back into my jacket. Then she stretched out her other hand, the one curled into a fist, and opened it, dropping a tightly-bundled pair of small, lacy black panties onto the table in front of me, which opened up as they landed.

"Very nice," I commented wryly as I took her underwear and pocketed it, enjoying the sensation of the soft, skimpy material that had just been so close to her sex against my skin. I got rid of them just in time too, as the waiter arrived with our coffees. We sat then, alone, silent, our coffees steaming gently in front of us as we stared at each other, me smiling devilishly, she wearing a tight, determined little grin.

"I cannotbelieveyou!" she said quietly, shaking her head gently. "I absolutely cannot believe you."

"You don't have to wear it," I pointed out as I took a sip of my coffee.

"Yes I do," she replied. "You know I do."

"Why?"

She gave the answer I hoped she'd give, one that gave me the most terrific rush and made my cock even harder under the table, if such a thing were possible.

"Because you told me to."

"You could still refuse, end the game, go back to being neighbours who exchange the occasional word every now and again…"

She shook her head once again, more definitively this time.

"I can't do that," she said. "You know I can't. I waited so long for this… I need it."

"Need what?" I asked innocently. "This?"

For a moment she froze, looking at me with a 'you wouldn't?' kind of a stare. But I would, and I did – I flicked the switch in my pocket and turned on the stimulator, on the lowest of its three settings. The effect was wonderful – she jolted suddenly in her seat, her face spasming in a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure.

"Oh God……" she sighed deeply, closing her eyes.

"Good?" I asked.

"Exquisite," she breathed. Then, opening her eyes and looking around worriedly as she shifted on her seat: "and horrible. Please?"

Just to show that I'm not a complete ogre, I switched it off. She sighed once more, although whether in relief or loss I'm not sure. I was just glad the thing worked, thinking of all the fun we could have with it.