When people see us, I know what's on their minds. I know because a few brave souls have come right out and asked me. What is a fit, slender, beautiful girl doing with someone who is at least twenty years her senior? Sometimes I tell them the truth. Other times, I just say, "the heart wants what the heart wants."
What am I talked about? I am talking about how being my neighbors' pet slut. Yes. I belong to Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. I am their pet. I am their slut. I am theirs. Yes. Both of them. How you ask? Well, let me tell you.
The first week of summer break of my freshman year at college, when I was home from school, my parents went on a second honeymoon to Europe for a few months. They wanted to hit several countries. Since I wasn't a big partier, they trusted me with their house.
Mrs. Reynolds is a plump woman, short with bleached blond hair and dark roots. I would say, at this time, She's in her mid-forties. I think my mom asked her to check in on me. So, I guess, you could say, she is to blame for my descent into depravity. Anyway, I digress.
I'm an athletic type. My legs are kind of thick and muscular. My stomach is flat and my breasts, well they aren't all that big. Sometimes, I can go without a bra because they are so firm, you know? So, one day, I'm in the backyard doing some yoga, when Mrs. Reynolds comes by.
"Oh Jenny honey, good you're home." She said as she came into the yard.
I was in the downward facing dog position. I groaned not wanting to interrupt my routine, but my mother always told me never to be rude. So I righted myself and plastered on a smile. "Hi, Mrs. Reynolds. Everything okay?" I reached up and tightened my brown pony-tail.
"Yes. Everything's fine hon. I was just wondering." She stepped closer to me. She sort of invaded my personal space. It felt awkward. "You do all that stretching stuff. Is that yoga?" She waved her hand at the mat I used.
I nodded. "Yeah." I tilted my head. "Have you ever done it before?" I asked with empathy in my voice.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled. "With an ass like this, you think I do yoga?" She snickered. "But I'm interested in it. Would you mind if I watched you a little bit? If it doesn't look that hard, maybe I could try it."
My mother had instilled a politeness into me that left me with a crippling inability to say no. So, I agreed and went through several poses for Mrs. Reynolds to watch. Each time I changed a pose and explained it, she would nod. She even complimented me on how flexible I was.
Each compliment spurred me to try a different, harder, pose. I got a really good work out with Mrs. Reynolds watching. It became a routine. Mrs. Reynolds started to come by each day and watched me do yoga. Each time she provided me with positive feedback for each pose. I grew to enjoy it really.
About two weeks into this, Mrs. Reynolds wasn't so positive. "You know Jenny," She said one day standing over me while I was doing a bridge move. "You got a lot higher yesterday." She frowned at me.
My insides twisted. I really wanted to impress Mrs. Reynolds. Something inside me urged me to lift my tired body up higher. She placed her hand on my spine and pushed up. "There you go." She praised. It washed over me, and I smiled.
She did this a few more times. Not every pose at first. It started as maybe every five poses. But as the days wore on, Mrs. Reynolds had more to say. She soon touched me during every pose and criticized my form. She pushed me harder. Mind you; the woman never did a pose in her life. Yet, I took to heart everything she said. I wanted to be perfect. I wanted her approval.
"I think its working." She said one day after a particularly hard work out where she had me hold poses longer than ever before.
I dripped with sweat. "What's working?" I asked perplexed as I drank some water.
She stepped closer and ran her hand down my arms. "You're getting more toned."
I shivered at her touch. At this point, it had become common and not all that weird. I thought nothing of it.
The next day she touched me again after the work out. She chose my thigh and pointed out how tight it was. The day after that it was my butt. She lingered. She squeezed, and I have to admit, it felt good. I was young. I didn't see a lot of action.
"I think its time for a swim. Don't you?" She suggested with a bright smile.
"Yeah," I said. It was a particularly hot day. "You got a suit?"
She smiled and shook her head. "No, I just like to watch you."
I probably should have thought twice about it when she followed me into the house. I didn't. I should have really thought something was up when she followed me upstairs. I didn't. In my defense, Mrs. Reynolds had been around so much, I had gotten used to her just being there when I did things. It wasn't until she was in my room with me that alarm bells went off.
"Uh, Mrs. Reynolds." I looked at her curiously.
She just smiled brightly at me and went to my dresser. "Yes?" She opened the top drawer and sifted through my panties as if this was something she did every day.
"What are you doing?" I stepped closer to her my cheeks flamed in embarrassment.
"I'm getting you a swimsuit of course." She said nonchalantly.
I reddened when she pulled out a pair of my panties. They were black and lacy. She giggled. I reached for them mortified.
She pulled them away. "Oh don't be shy. It's just us girls." She tossed them back inside.
She closed my panty drawer and went to my nightstand. "No!" I yelled.
Too late; Mrs. Reynolds had it open and found my stash. Everyone knows the nightstand is a sacred domain. It's private. Not to Mrs. Reynolds. From that day forth, I would have nothing private from Mrs. Reynolds.
My cheeks blazed bright red as she pulled out my toys. I should admit here that I had limited sexual experience but, for as long as I could remember, leaned toward some darker fantasies. Or well, dark for a 19-year-old with one previous sexual partner. I would learn later my fantasies were downright vanilla compared to now.
Mrs. Reynolds pulled out a set of handcuffs and my bullet vibrator. She looked at me blank faced.
I froze. I didn't know what to do. It only got worse when she pulled out my bondage magazine. I stood mute. I shied my eyes away as if it pained me to look at the items.
"You keep this kind of stuff in your mother's house?" She accused.
The way she said it made it sound so, so, dirty.
I swallowed. I couldn't respond. What was I going to say? No? No, I don't keep porn, a vibrator, and handcuffs at my mother's house? She had them right there.
Because I was looking away and pretty lost in my own head, I didn't notice that she stepped toward me. I did hear the clicks though. And when my head snapped back, she had handcuffed one of my hands and reached for the other.
Mrs. Reynolds spun me around, and before I could react, she had my hands cuffed behind my back. "What-what-what are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but she had a hold of the cuffs.
"Oh come on now Jenny." Her voice dropped an octave and went to an authoritative tone. It caused me to freeze.
"Mrs. Reynolds?" My voice shook.
"What kind of girl keeps handcuffs and a vibrator at her mother's house?" Mrs. Reynolds chastised. "And that magazine!" she clucked her tongue. I could see her shaking her head at me.
She had the disapproving tone she used so many times before when she corrected my form. It was that tone that pushed me to stretch further, push harder, and to please her. It now only pushed me deeper into shame.
"I just-"
