From the Top Shelf - The Woman Next Door, part 2

Today for your entertainmentI have part 2 of Rollin Hand's story, "The Woman Next Door" from his collection of female dominant stories, Ladies in Charge. Last week we met Curt, who has set up cameras in the house next door in order to spy on his voluptuous neighbour. This week, Curt sees a lot more, and decides to enhance his viewing experience with sound.

The episode with the cute girl had whetted his appetite. Not only was his neighbor hot, she was sexually kinky as well. He could only hope she had more friends like that one. The spanking and whipping had excited him more than anything he could remember. Seeing it was one thing, but what if he could hear too? The thought intrigued him. But how?

Before he could figure that out, she had another guest. The interlude with this one was even more eye-opening than the first. He had logged in at around 8 pm and was treated to the sight of her in a tight black skirt that came well above her knees. She wore a white blouse with a choker collar and six inch heels. Odd attire for an evening at home. She made herself a drink at her wet bar and sipped it slowly, lost in thought. Then she turned her head as if she had heard a sound, and left the room. When she returned, a young man was with her. Ah, finally, the boyfriend, thought Curt. But this guy looked younger, maybe in his late 20’s. He looked more her type though. Nice suit. Polished shoes. Very buttoned down. He could be a lawyer, maybe. Or a stockbroker.

They talked. He looked sheepish, like he was explaining some failure or offering some excuse. Suddenly her hand flashed out and she slapped his cheek, hard. He did not try to defend himself.

She looked him up and down while he stood there rubbing his injured cheek. She slapped the other cheek. The guy just stood there, dazed. Then she pointed at him and gestured. The guy nodded nervously then took off his jacket, then his tie and shirt. She watched with her arms folded as he stripped right in front of her. The pants came off, then the undershirt, and finally his boxers. She barked some order at him. He snapped to and stood there at attention, stark naked.

While he stood waiting, she went to her cabinet of whips. When she turned and came back she was brandishing a thin yellow cane. Now Curt understood the clothing. She was playing a sexy schoolteacher and he was her naughty charge. She talked and walked around him in circles, lecturing, making her points with the cane which flexed and quivered as she wagged it his direction. His expression drooped. A naughty schoolboy called to task. Again, it was some sort of scolding. The man had done something to displease her. Then she stopped and stood in front of him. The man was trembling but his cock had risen and was standing straight out, pointed at her. She flexed the cane between her two hands, bending it almost in a circle. Then she walked over to the couch and slapped it down on the back, causing the man to jump.

She must have issued a command because the man came around the back of the couch and bent over it, gripping the front cushions and offering up his buttocks for what Curt imagined would be a severe caning. He was right.

She tapped his rear cheeks a time or two then sliced the vulnerable flesh with full arm swipe that made the man flinch and rise halfway up. A thin red line bisected the nude cheeks of his bottom. He danced from toe to toe on the carpet, maybe trying to shake off the awful sting. It looked for all the world that it hurt like crazy. Curt counted twelve strokes, each one apparently given with the full strength of her arm. The guy’s body reacted to each stroke. He squirmed, his arms flailed, he rose up part way only to have the cane tap him on the back, no doubt a signal to bend over again. He imagined she said ‘Get back into position, boy. Stick that naughty bottom out. We’re not done yet.’

It was harrowing and exciting all at the same time. So his neighbor was some sort of dominatrix? Curt imagined himself in the guy’s position – or the girl’s. He found that either thought made his dick hard. How could that be? He had not been spanked since he was a kid, and that had been no fun, but this looked sexy as hell.

After she had given him twelve harsh strokes, she took his hand and led him into her bedroom...

* * *

The whole thing was beyond belief. His neighbor lady was a dominant sadist? Dominatrix? He didn’t know what you called it. He didn’t care. He was beside himself with lust now. He wanted to hear what was going on, not merely see it. He’d record these sessions and have hours and hours of prime stroke material.

 But how to get into her house? The wireless mics were relatively easy. They were independent stand-alone units that just had to be placed correctly. It would take less than five minutes. Then it came to him. When she went into the back yard to sunbathe he’d slip into her house. She was usually out there for an hour at a time, and that was plenty.

So he bided his time. In the meantime two more women and one more man showed up on various nights. The scenarios varied. One slender blonde lady was a naked slave led about by Robin on a leash attached to a collar. She leaned against the wall halfway bent over as Robin whipped her buttocks with a multi-thong lash. A second guy was a middle aged man who put on a woman’s abbreviated maid costume and waited on Robin hand and foot. He made mistakes, and was scolded, and spanked on his bare bottom, hard across her knees with a big wooden hairbrush.

One Saturday morning when the sun was shining, Curt saw her go out into the back yard with a towel and some lotion. This was it. Now! He was ready. He’d had the mics unpackaged and sitting ready right by his front door. Taking a deep breath he grabbed them and hurried down the block. Her side door was unlocked. He slipped in and quietly as he could, made his way into the den where all the action usually started. A unit went on a bookcase, hidden behind a picture. Then it was back to her bedroom. It was a ranch style house, everything on one level, so he had no stairs to negotiate. He placed one unit behind a flat screen TV that faced the bed. He had positioned it just so and was about to get out of there when he felt something. It was a subtle sensation, maybe just the movement of air. He spun around. Robin Whitehall stood in the doorway glaring at him.

“Perhaps you would care to explain this?” Her face was an angry mask.

Uh-oh! Curt's in for it now! At least he'll have a week's reprieve, then we'll find out what happens to him.