[This story is the latest in the Shy Widow series of stories. It involves a neighbor of Margaret's and Will's. It has many aspects and could have also been listed under the Fetish, Anal, Exhibitionism, and BDSM categories, among others. It has references to bodily functions and fluids, so if that bothers you, I suggest you read no further. All characters in this story are well over 18 years old.]
The lewd noises from the flat below were driving her crazy
Ethel Watson knew that her mental health was not in the best of shape, to put it mildly. A decade of living alone had not done her any favors. It was beyond humiliating to realize that at age 45 her last serious relationship had ended when she was only 35. It was not as if she had no desires. Oh, she had plenty of desires alright, some of them fueled by the very naughty stories she had discovered online at Littersmutica, the amateur erotic story site she turned to for diversion and solace.
And it wasn't as if she wasn't a nice person. Ethel tried to be nice and pleasant to everyone she met. And if she got right down to it, it wasn't that she was ugly or unattractive, exactly. She thought her face was rather pretty, with big blue eyes, plush lips, and quite nice cheek bones. True, her proportions were a bit out of whack. Her rump was laughably outsized, a trait that all the women on her mother's side had shared. And her titties were like light-brown eggs, barely a handful, and almost entirely covered by her large areolas with peg-like nipples sticking out. She knew from videos she had seen online that there were plenty of men who were quite happy to take a roll in the hay with a BBW.
The problem was that her inhibitions regarding intimate matters had been growing worse as the years went by. When she was younger, her hormones had helped overpower her self-doubts, and besides, she had not yet expanded into BBW status. But her last break-up with someone she had truly loved had left her feeling rejected and insecure. And when Ethel was depressed, she tended to snack away her blues, which made for an extra roll or two around her belly, which depressed her even more and the cycle began again.
And yet she was not unfriendly. She enjoyed her job as a waitress in a diner, where she joked with the regulars and had an infectious laugh. She even learned to tolerate their teasing about her enormous bum. But she was relieved, at the end of her shift, to just head home and escape into the world of erotic fantasies. As a kind of compensation for her real life insecurities, she especially enjoyed stories about shy or reserved older women who were placed in humiliating situations or forced to submit to terribly lewd procedures and punishments. She knew that something had gone out of kilter in her own life, and that increased her wish for someone to take over her life and introduce some discipline into it.
She had become especially fond of the stories by a Littersmutica author who went by the nom de plume of Jackobin. She adored his little universe of shy widows in extravagant undergarments who succumbed to their most secret depraved fantasies. The tales had an underlying thread of wit and ridiculousness that made them unthreatening to Ethel. They seemed to give her permission to imagine herself as one of their characters drawn into the most intimate carnal acts -- a dignified older woman who is persuaded to lose her inhibitions and express her secret sluttiness within.
If only she could magically set her introverted anxieties aside and submit to a loving master who would draw her into depraved acts of the most excruciating intimacy, an intimacy that would expose her shame and yet embrace it. She found herself reading these stories over and over, until she almost knew them by heart, drawing herself into fingering her hairy puss which was invariably sopping wet with her fragrant juices. If only she had the courage to act out her fantasies; to reach out somehow to someone who would take her in hand and just make her do it.
* * *
One of the things that had been driving Ethel crazy was the sounds coming up the airshaft through her bedroom window from the two flats below. Ever since the shy widow had moved into the flat directly beneath Ethel's and then taken up with that older man in the flat next to hers, Ethel's ears had been assaulted with the lewd sounds of their incessant sex-play, which seemed to include spanking, paddling, bondage, and all manner of rough sex and even peeing. Though they tried to mute things by closing their windows and pulling the drapes across them, the walls and ceilings in the apartment building were so thin that everyone could hear nearly everything going on in their adjoining flats.
Not that such sounds offended Ethel. Far from it. They were the perfect accompaniment to her favorite stories, indeed almost as if those very stories were being acted out below. But they were almost a form of torture for the poor woman, as they made her constantly horny with only masturbation as a means of release. Despite Ethel's fear of intimacy, she was experiencing a stronger and stronger craving for a good spanking with each passing day. She had even tried spanking herself with a fly-swatter, but the posture was awkward and she barely felt the swats, perhaps because her cheeks were so well-padded.
Finally in a fit of desperation, Ethel screwed up her courage to go introduce herself to the widow, whose name she didn't even know, and perhaps bring the conversation around to the source of the sounds. She didn't really have a plan, it was more like a desperate urge that couldn't be denied.
She was no longer in therapy -- her therapist had thrown up his hands in defeat several years before -- but she felt like she just had to talk with someone. The widow at least seemed approachable; they always nodded amiably when they saw each other getting their mail in the lobby, and from the sound of things, she must be quite experienced in kinky matters.
Before she could lose her resolve, Ethel gave herself a quick look in the mirror, freshened up her perfume, gargled some mouthwash, and took the stairs down to the floor below. She'd heard the widow go out earlier and then come back, so she was almost positive she was at home. She knocked briskly on the door and placed herself with a warm smile in front of the peep-hole. Her stomach was in a terrible knot, but she wanted to project a feeling of neighborly friendliness.
* * *
Margaret was a bit surprised when she heard the knock, as she wasn't expecting any visitors. Everyone in this building seemed to keep to themselves, with the exception of Will, who was still the only other tenant whom she knew by name. But, here at her door, was an actual neighbor, one whom she recognized from occasionally seeing her in the lobby. Would miracles never cease?
She flipped her bolt-lock and opened her door wide, giving the lady a friendly smile of recognition. Her neighbor spoke first, as if to justify her presence.
"Hello, I'm Ethel Watson from upstairs. In fact I live in the flat immediately above yours."
"Oh dear! I do hope we've not been making too much of a racket down here. But please come in won't you? I was just about to make some char, and it would be so nice to have you join me. I'm Margaret Higgins. As I suppose you know, I've only lived here for a few months. I'm so pleased to meet you."
Margaret was immaculately put together as usual. She had gone out to do some shopping earlier, and Will always insisted that she look her very best when out in public. She led her guest into her kitchen and bade her have a seat in the breakfast nook. She added another teabag to the teapot and put the kettle on to boil.
"I really must apologize for our noise. Sometimes we do get a bit carried away, and I know I'm rather vocal. I always worry that our playing sounds like domestic abuse and someone will sic the police on us. Last weekend a naughty couple who used to play with my husband and me came to visit, and I'm sure we were especially outrageous. I do apologize."
"Oh, it's not really about the noise, Margaret, though maybe it is, now that I think about it."
Ethel gave herself a little frown while she tried to sort out how to put things. She felt rather tongue-tied, especially in light of Margaret being so matter of fact.
"I mean to say, I'm not complaining about the noise at all. In fact I rather like the noise. How can I put this? I find it rather titillating and that's the problem. As time has gone on, I've found myself more and more aroused by it. I often like to read naughty stories in the evening and your noises help to enhance their effect. But the end result has been that I find myself constantly craving a spanking for all my naughty fantasies. It has been driving me crazy." Ethel paused a moment, trying to further order her thoughts.
"Well, how very lovely, Ethel. My dear neighbor Will writes delightfully smutty stories. In fact one of them helped win me over. He's quite clever that way. He writes them for this naughty amateur story site called "Littersmutica".
