Just what had my young, handsome new neighbour, James, meant when he had whispered, "fuck you again, soon, slut," leaving me totally exhausted and, otherwise, blissfully satisfied. Sometimes, as I pondered his intent, I became angry; how dare he call me a slut, he was just as bad, banging away at an old and ugly neighbour following the least of provocations. More often I became really moist and had to finger myself or, if I could hold myself back until the kids were out, unlock the big powerful vibrator from my cabinet of treasures and spend a long session writhing on the bed. But, whatever he meant, he had promised to fuck me again and soon: it was true that, in his hands I was a slut, whatever he wanted was his for the asking, or better still the taking. I really did wonder where I would draw the line with him and I hoped he'd investigate diligently.
Whilst I heard much hammering, sawing and drilling from James's flat, and noted that the flickering candle was replaced by the stability of electricity, I did not actually see him for several days. It was Thursday morning when the lift doors opened to reveal James. "My place, two o'clock, dressed as you were last Friday," and as I stepped out, wrestling my shopping behind me, he glided past, closed the door and was gone.
'The bloody cheek,' I thought, 'what if I'm busy?' But at the same time I knew that my nipples had just stiffened, my pussy was beginning to flow freely and that I was not at all busy: I needed a bath, I had to wash my hair, oh my God I had to shave my pussy, it was getting a bit stubbly, should I rinse my bum out, were those clothes clean and fresh?" I had a million things to do, at least the kids were all out for the day. That was another thing, I had 'forgotten' to mention my kids to James, I was going to have to tell him; he'd see, or more likely hear, them soon enough. I was in a tizz, my daughter had more sense; the truth was I had fallen deeply in lust with James.
It was five minutes to two, my hair was long, lustrous and sporting a coquettish red bow, my teeth clean and breath fresh, my lips coated with just a trifle too much lipstick, my eye shadow a shade too bright and my mascara coated a little too thickly. My nails, fingers and toes, shone vivid purple, three coats that had taken. My tits were almost falling out of the damn bra, how had I managed so easily the other night. I had rolled my skirt once around its belt so that it was even shorter than before, and I had replaced the sheer black stockings with very fine fishnets. I could barely walk in these heels. My sex and bum had been fresh but I was already dribbling, I could feel slick lubricant slithering slowly down my left thigh. I wiped my juices away with a damp flannel, made one last check in the mirror, yes I looked like a slut, and tottered out of my front door.
Two o'clock, on the dot, I knocked and James opened it so quickly that he must have been stood next to it waiting. He blocked the door, lifted my skirt, checked I was panty less and only then said, "come inside." My areolae crinkled, my teats stiffened, my knees went weak, my juices coursed and my pulse raced as he led me to a tastefully furnished room. All sandal wood, cream and peach, not what I had expected. There were two very low arm chairs, each with an elaborate footstool, all covered in cream hemp with a simple, peach painted, inverted wooden box placed between them, a large cotton rug laid over a polished wooden floor, heavy cream curtains made from thick hemp lined with black felt, a translucent shop dummy that doubled as a stand lamp, a powerful hi-fi with large floor mounted speakers and, under the windows, shelving holding about a thousand records. On the wall, behind the speakers and facing the chairs was a huge mirror, at least five feet square, framed like a picture. That was it, that was literally everything in the room. "Take a seat, I'll get you a drink, wine or tea?"
"Uh, tea please." As I sat in the chair I realised that however I positioned myself my suspenders were going to show and that mirror had to be angled ever so slightly, because if I didn't keep my knees firmly together I could see up my own skirt. I rotated the chair a little and sat down. No television, 'was there one somewhere else or did he not own one', I could not imagine life without television: entertainer, educator, child-minder, drowner-out of noisy neighbours. The wooden box was not inverted as I had thought, its top was a lid: inside were several text books, laid open at various pages, a sheaf of notes and a stack of photocopies. Before I had arrived James had been working, perhaps, because lying on the top of the pile was the photograph of me lying on the bed stark naked, with my legs up in the air spread akimbo: the fink had stolen it. I hastily shut the box; that bastard, if I mentioned the photograph he'd know how nosy I had been and if I didn't, well he'd still have the damn thing.
James was gone a while before he returned carrying a silver tray holding a round brown teapot in a brightly striped woolly cosy, two incongruously large china mugs bearing the same coat of arms and a simple jug, sugar bowl and tea strainer, together with some teaspoons, all also in silver. "It's a scientific fact, the Brown Bessie is the almost perfect tea pot: my mum made the cosy, she's as nutty as a fruit cake now but she can still knit and the rest of the set her's, really," he grinned as he placed the tray on the lid of the box and enquired if I wanted milk and sugar. This was all too nice, a plate of biscuits would have been nicer, but it all was very nice and very, very formal and, somehow, menacing; a little shiver ran up and down my spine. "Now tell me Judy, exactly what would you like me to do to you this afternoon? No shyness now, be explicit, oh yes, and be specific otherwise you may end up doing things that you didn't expect to."
"First, I've something to tell you, about me that is."