Stealing From My Neighbour

"What is it, young man? Got lost, have you?"

The sharp rasp of irritation in my voice would have been apparent to anyone. The small, walled patio outside my ground-floor flat was my own private space. Unfortunately, though, because of the layout of the building, people often found their way into it, as they tried to locate the main entrance to the block, just around the corner. It was almost always a genuine mistake, but that didn't make it any less annoying. Now it had happened again. This time, the intruder was a smartly dressed young man, who seemed genuinely concerned that he'd bothered me. Something about him was catching my attention, in a most unexpected way.

As my story starts, I'm single, 30-something, with a well-paid part-time job, living a rather quiet life, independently, in my own flat, in a nondescript town in the East Midlands of England. My name is Nicky. I consider myself quite attractive, and I can afford to dress well. I'm a natural blonde, and I have a nicely-proportioned body which I look after carefully. I'm well educated, I enjoy travelling, and I know how to appreciate good food. Now, I might have given the impression, from what I've said so far, that I'd got things pretty well sorted out, but it had been bothering me, for some time now, that my life had become just a little too safe and predictable. I once read that when a woman becomes bored, she can fall in love all too easily. That wasn't a route I wanted to take. It sounded to much like the "path of least resistance", and for that reason alone, I was determined to avoid it. I didn't want to close off any of my options, and in any case I wasn't actively looking for any kind of emotional involvement. I valued my independence too highly. Nevertheless, I couldn't escape from the irksome feeling that I was missing out on some promising opportunities, and it seemed to me that, somehow, before long, something would have to change. Quite what the change would be, or how it would come about, was something I had yet to work out.

The man who'd just walked onto my patio looked thoroughly respectable. At a guess, I took him for a few years younger than me. He was a little taller than me, slimmer too, with dark hair and deep brown eyes, and there was just a hint of the Mediterranean about him. He was well-spoken and polite. He could have been an estate agent, a solicitor, a financial adviser, or indeed, pretty much anyone who'd arrived here on perfectly legitimate business. That in itself was unusual. For some time now, I'd had to contend with an altogether different sort of problem. The source of my difficulties was my next-door neighbour, Sasha. She was living here on her own, and she was about the same age as me, but that's as far the similarities go. It was public knowledge around here that she made a living by offering sex to any man who would pay. She did this pretty much full-time, day and night. She mostly worked from home, and she'd been doing this for quite a while now.

That in itself needn't have been an issue. If she'd taken a more discrete approach to her work, and kept sensible hours, she could have carried on offering her services without making herself at all conspicuous. Presumably none of her visiting clients would have had any inclination to draw attention to themselves. It had been apparent for some time, however, that she had a serious alcohol problem. She frequently arrived home late at night, very much the worse for wear, along with one or more male companions in a similar state. From what I'd seen and heard, these were almost invariably some of most disreputable characters to be found anywhere. Certainly, at no time did any of them show the merest hint of consideration for anyone living nearby.

Sasha has the flat next to mine, in a four-storey block of eight flats, not far from the centre of town. The block is part of a small estate, just off a main road. It's not posh, here, by any means, but it's not rough, either, unlike some other estates in the area. It's a fairly new estate, and it's clean and tidy, and well maintained, with plenty of green space between the blocks. Women like Sasha are not wanted here, because of the kind of people they bring to the neighbourhood, and the damage they do to the reputation of the place. Sasha had been banned from all the pubs around here. There were all sorts of stories doing the rounds about gang-bangs in pub toilets and drunken orgies in her flat. She could get very aggressive, when confronted about her behaviour, and people usually did their best to avoid her, rather than get into an argument or a fight.

I'd always thought it was a great shame about Sasha, because apart from all that, she seemed to be a really nice person. She was quite nice-looking, and generally took reasonable care of her appearance. My first impression was of someone friendly and down-to-earth. She somehow came across as very straight, open, and honest. In other circumstances, we might well have become close friends by now, but as things were, we didn't have much to say to each other.

Now, although the gentleman I was speaking to didn't look the part at all, I felt sure that he was another of Sasha's visitors. There was something furtive in his stance, as if he'd been caught doing something he wouldn't want others to know about. My first thought was to give him a thorough dressing down, to leave him in no doubt about what I thought of his behaviour, and maybe even scare him off for good. Then, analysing the circumstances quickly, I thought better of that. I tried to scan the situation from his point of view, and it occurred to me that maybe he thought I was another of Sasha's ilk, offering similar services from my own flat.

I was wearing a very short floral-print silk robe, buttoned at the front, which accentuated my curves and my cleavage, and I was showing a lot of leg. On my feet were high-heeled red slip-on shoes, and my hair had an untidy, tousled look. Part-time local independent whore, taking a mid-afternoon break, to wash her underwear? Quite possibly. Still, as I said, this was supposed to be a private space, and so I'd dressed accordingly.

Taking a less aggressive line than I'd originally had in mind, I asked him if he was here to see Sasha. It was a simple, polite, soft-spoken question, but it was direct enough to stop him in his tracks. For a moment, he seemed completely at a loss. He finally managed to stammer out a kind of apology, and said he'd travelled quite a long way, to see her, and had ended up getting here early.

He seemed so embarrassed to have been caught skulking around my patio that I began to feel sorry for him. Once he'd started to get his composure back, he made a surprisingly positive impression. He was articulate, polite and charmingly reserved. Definitely not the sort of guy I'd have expected to run into, on his way to Sasha's boudoir.

Having wrong-footed him, though, just a little, and knowing that he wasn't in a hurry just now, I kept the pressure on.

"Have you seen her before?"

"Yes ... a few times."

"She's worth a journey, then?"

"Oh yes ... she certainly is."

"Do you mind if I ask how you found out about her?"

Disarmed by my gentle, polite curiosity, he explained that she had a "profile" on a website called Adultlife. She said quite a lot about herself on the site, with quite a few pictures, and a frequently updated blog. I could see that he now felt he'd said more than enough, and he was dying to ask me some questions. Not just yet, my good man. I was the one in control of this particular conversation, and I had a reason for wanting the information.

Before he could ask, I told him that Sasha and I were neighbours. That was all he needed to know about me, for the moment. I didn't say anything at all about Sasha. Meanwhile, as I was starting to build up an initial impression of the man in front of me, I was liking what I saw. He seemed quiet and unassuming, shy even. The sort of guy who'd probably rely on someone crazy like Sasha to bring him out of his shell.

Keeping him guessing about the situation he was in, I started to prepare the ground for a plan that was taking shape in my mind.

"OK" I said, "I understand you've travelled a long way to get here, but what would you say if you found that there was a new dish on the menu today?"

He looked puzzled, but I was getting the impression that we understood each other.

"Let me make a little bet with you. Pop in and see me for an hour instead, and I bet that the next time you're in our area, it'll be me that you're here to see, and not her. What do you say?"

Obviously, he wasn't going to say yes straight away. He had his appointment, and he'd been looking forward to it. He was no doubt very keen on Sasha, and he didn't want to let her down. I had to make him an offer he couldn't refuse.

"Look, love, it's not going to cost you anything. Just tell me what Sash does, and I'll do the same, and more. Totally free of charge. And if that doesn't hit the spot, well, you'll still have the cash in your pocket, and you can come back and see her tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever."

I had him now. He was up for this. He was still wavering, in fact he was in a real dilemma now, poor chap. I could tell that he liked what he was seeing, the only thing was, he didn't know what to say to Sasha.

"Listen, love, just tell her you've been called back to work ... your train's been held up ... you've had your wallet stolen ... anything. You've still got plenty of time, she won't mind, as long as she gets a call or a text. She'll be fine."

Just then, glancing past him, I noticed a rather scruffy-looking guy ambling along the street. I didn't think I'd seen him before.

"Don't worry, love, Sash isn't short of clients, believe me. That guy across the road looks familiar, I'm sure he's one of her regulars. He'll have been trying to get a booking this afternoon. You might say you're doing him a favour."

Cheeky me! That clinched it. Before he'd realised what he was doing, he was reaching towards his pocket, for his phone. He was still a bit unsure, though, I could tell, and I could understand why.

"Just one more thing, love. This will never get back to Sasha. I'm not going to drop you in it. Likewise, you'd better not think about dropping me in it, either. Sash and I are neighbours, and we're mates, but she'd kill me, she really would, if she found out I was waylaying her clients, outside her front door. The woman has a temper. So, no, there's nothing in it for me to say anything about this, ever, to her or anyone else."

The bit about being mates with Sasha was a lie, of course, but what I'd said about what she would do to me was probably an understatement. It was an amazing situation. He was eating out of my hand. I watched him as he jabbed away nervously with his thumb, sending what looked like quite a lengthy text message. He stared at the phone for what seemed like ages, waiting to see "Message sent", and then the tension in him seemed to dissipate.

"Good decision", I told him. "You've nothing to lose, and maybe a lot to gain. I'm horny as hell right now. But unlike Sasha, I don't fuck for a living. So this is bound to be a different experience for you."

I led him inside, and shut the door, more or less safe in the knowledge that Sasha couldn't have seen or heard us. I was having fun. On the spur of the moment, I'd found myself a nice, sweet-natured, tasty-looking guy, who was already well and truly turned on, ready for an intense session of full-on whoring, and who was in a very good mood indeed, now that he was getting to meet someone new, a fired-up horny bitch who was throwing herself at him, for free.

There was just one more element of the plan to be put into place. I didn't want to keep asking question after question about Sasha, but I had to know more about her. I had some time. I ushered my guest into the bathroom, and invited him to enjoy a nice long shower, before making his way to the bedroom. As I heard the water running, I sat down at my computer desk, found the Adultlife site, and ran a quick postcode search. It took just a few seconds. Just as I'd been told, there was my troublesome, truculent neighbour in all her naked glory. Describing herself as "naughty, kinky and adventurous", she was offering a wide range of services at what seemed like very reasonable prices, and claimed to have very few limits. She said she was easy-going and friendly, with "no airs and graces". I had to smile!

As I carried on reading, I was surprised to see just how much we had in common. Like Sasha, I always favour a direct approach, when dealing with people, even to the point of being blunt. I like to be in control, in intimate situations, as she evidently does, and although I've never offered sex for money, I know what guys like and I know how to take pleasure in giving it to them. And still, even now, I was finding it difficult to believe that I had one of Sasha's clients in my flat. When I spoke to that guy just a moment ago, it was an impulse, a reflex reaction to what felt like an intrusion on my privacy. I was just having a bit of fun with him. Now he was in my bathroom, taking a shower. How did that happen?

Events had moved quickly, and - unlike Sasha - I hadn't been in a position to prepare for this encounter: there'd be no fishnet stockings, no uniforms, no drawer full of toys, no riding crop, no gag, no bed restraints. Then again, my little silk robe would slip off easily enough, and even without much make-up on, I felt confident that I was looking good. I'm slimmer than Sasha, but still curvy, with lovely, firm, natural breasts, and a smooth, round ass. I was fresh and clean, and with a dash of a favourite scent here and there, I felt gorgeously fragrant. Most important of all, I was getting very turned on by thoughts of what I was going to do when I had a seriously horny guy lying naked on my bed.

I was getting into this now, and becoming totally absorbed in imagining myself as Sasha. Like her, I have a healthy appetite for sex, and as long as I trust the guy I'm with, I don't mind if things get a bit rough. Even so, it was really stretching my imagination to get a real sense of what it might be like to work my way through a queue of guys, all waiting in line for me, one after the other, some of them complete strangers, some regular visitors, all rampantly horny. Or, what about partying with a group of guys, taking them all on at once, at any time of day or night, sucking cock after cock, and taking them in my pussy and ass, then swallowing shot after shot of fresh hot semen, gulping it eagerly down?

As Sasha, I'd have to adopt her attitude of "no airs and graces". "I am what I am", she says. I wouldn't be the slightest bit interested in what other people might think, or how they might judge me. Their problem, not mine. And all the while, the money would be piling up. What would I spend it on? I reckon Sasha spends so much of her time on her back that she doesn't get to do very much shopping. What kind of lifestyle must that be? And that's before you get into the really kinky stuff that Sasha says she likes. Does she really enjoy it? Things like ---

Hearing the shower shut off, I was suddenly brought back to the reality of the present moment. I reached for my handbag, and put on some nice bright lipstick. I ran my fingers through my hair, took a last quick look in the mirror and made my way to the bedroom. I was ready for anything, and I'd never felt better. All the while, I'd been busily trying to second-guess what my guest would be expecting from me. One of the things I'd picked up on, from my quick run-through of Sasha's profile, was something called the "girlfriend experience", or "GFE", a kind of low-key, slow and subtle approach, with plenty of body contact and deep kissing, which lots of guys evidently seemed to favour, to start with at least. That sounded like a good way to get things moving.

Entering the bedroom, I found my guest lying on the bed, naked, gazing expectantly towards the door. He was stroking his cock, slowly and gently. It was a nice, solid-looking piece of equipment, and it was already reassuringly stiff. Well, I thought to myself, if you're going to get yourself a man by stealing one from your next-door neighbour, you might as well steal a good one.

I slipped out of my robe, letting it drop to the floor, and kicked off my shoes. No tantalising striptease today. I lay down next to my guest, and he responded very positively, straight away, caressing my breasts and thighs. I slid myself on top of him, and started kissing him, long and deep. As I did so, I began to stroke his cock with the inside of my leg. That had just the right effect, and I could feel that hefty shaft growing even bigger and harder underneath me. I shifted myself up the bed a little, so that he'd find it easier to stroke my pussy. Luckily, I'd only just given it a thorough shave, and it was delightfully soft and smooth. As soon as he touched the moist, plump lips, he shifted out of his passively contented state, all at once becoming much more active and interested. He slid down the bed, to get a proper look.

He was evidently keen to pay some serious attention to my pussy, but he couldn't have been any keener than I was, for him to get started. It turned out that he'd done this at least once or twice before, and he knew exactly what to do with his tongue. He traced the contours of my lips, before working his way deep inside me. Sasha had taught him well, and now, here I was, enjoying the benefits of her investment. I was having a fantastic time. When it was his turn to receive the attention, I wanted him to have as much fun as I'd just had. I wanted to impress him with a full-on demonstration of my own oral skills. My speciality is the "messy" approach, providing a generous coating of saliva, and taking the cock as deep as I possibly can. I wanted him to be able to close his eyes and imagine that I was riding him, his cock deep inside my pussy, with no condom. Hardcore bareback riding, no compromises.

I wanted the sex to feel like that, too. Once I'd got him seriously hard, I got straight on top, and rode him. That's just how I like it, on top, in control, nice and rough, and getting rougher, as long as my partner can handle it. This guy seemed more than happy to take a serious hammering, and I found myself getting quite aggressive. This guy really had been schooled well. He knew exactly how to lie back and enjoy himself. He stayed hard, very hard, and he wasn't asking me to stop, so I gave him a really thorough thrashing. What a man! After a little while, he switched out of his passive stance again, and started shouting at me, encouraging me to ride him harder still. I was shouting too, and eventually, I was overwhelmed by a truly stupendous climax. I shot out a massive gush, and keeled over as my legs went to jelly.

This was seriously good sex. A session like this would be enough to set me up for the week. Amazing to think that Sasha could be doing stuff like this, five or six times a day, maybe even more, to say nothing of what she might be getting up to at night. Meanwhile, my willing partner was showing no sign of flagging. He and Sasha must have had some amazing times together. At his request, we tried "doggie" for a while, and once again, he showed that he knew exactly what he was doing. He pounded away, with long, firm, confident strokes, and soon he had me gushing again. This time, it seemed as though my whole body went to jelly, and once again, I collapsed on the bed, face down, the bed soaking wet by now.

The guy lying next to me was still impressively hard. I wanted him to climax for me, but he told me that he was starting to worry that he might not be able to. It was as if he'd somehow held on for so long, that he'd gone past the point of being ready. Even another messy blow-job might not do it for him, at this stage. Fortunately, he had his own tried-and-tested method of getting to the point of no return. At his request, we finished the session with me sitting on his face. That was great for me, as I was on top again. I sat astride his face, and he drew as much of me as he could, into his mouth. I was in heaven as he sucked long and hard on my pussy lips, and my juices were flowing profusely.