Hollow Pleasure

*** Disclaimer ***

The following story may contain themes of hypnosis, mind control, non-consent, paranormal, cheating, cuckoldry, voyeurism, and other forms of debauchery. If this isn't for you, don't waste your time reading further.

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Hollow Pleasure chapter 01

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Tenant 3A

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By the second landing, Robert Bradford had to pause and catch his breath. The stairs were steep and his burden was heavy. Each exhale sent a puff of dust swirling throughout the tight hallway. He doubted the desktop tower in his arms would even turn on— he'd neglected it for far too long in the tenant storage area of the dank old basement.

He peered up the final flight of stairs. Now he was remembering why he'd never bothered to carry his old computer upstairs when he first moved into his attic apartment. The Victorian along Willow Street was tall. The 12 foot high ceilings in each apartment might have created the illusion of more space, but the extra long flights of stairs were very real.

By the time his hollow foot falls reached the top landing, his face was bright red. But it was for more reasons than one...

"Oh! Hi there!" A cheerful voice greeted him at the top.

He groaned inwardly. He looked like an out of shape mess, and he knew it. His skinny arms strained with the load that he carried.

Kelsey Parker lived across the hall from him, in 3B— the only two attic apartments. They shared a tiny landing at the apex of the Victorian. A night nurse who lived alone, she usually wasn't up at this hour. This was a rarity that Rob wasn't prepared for. And if he'd have known she was out, he probably wouldn't have left his apartment at all. He would have just admired her from the peephole on his door.

Kelsey was the object of most of Rob's guilty fantasies. She was in her mid twenties and so fuckin' cute that it made Rob want to cry. She wore her smile in her big brown eyes— they were always bright and sunny to match her disposition. She had a cute little upturned nose, and just enough of an overbite that her front teeth displayed like a chipmunk. She could have been the cutest Hoo from Whoville. Her hair was light brown, with highlights of dyed blonde throughout. Today it was tied up behind her head like a perky feather duster that bobbed with her movements.

If her face wasn't enough to turn him into a stammering school boy, her body was something that could make him weep. She kept fit, but one thing that wouldn't shrink with exercise was her chest. Kelsey must have developed early in life, because her boobs strained any outfit that she wore— even her usual baggy scrubs. Rob had speculated that she was at least a double D— possibly even encroaching into E territory, and her slim frame did little but enhance them. Someday, the poor girl was going to develop back problems. But thank god today was not that day.

She didn't have much of a butt on her— it was modest and perky. Rob mused that gifted chests often came at the expense of smaller asses on women. But Kelsey had so much going for her already that he was willing to overlook God having run out of modeling clay before he finished her rear-end. He'd stacked it all into her boobs, and that was just fine.

Rob didn't see her often out of her scrubs, but she was dressed casual yet cute. Today, that tight, wonderful body was crammed into a pair of Capri jeans that hugged her hips and stopped at mid calf, showing off her shins and ankles adorably. She wore a zip-up gray hoodie that hid lot of her frame, but it wasn't enough to hide her inviting chest. A pair of pink converse Chuck Taylor sneakers and orange socks gave her some quirky color. Approachable in a down-to-earth way that screamed of cheerful and friendly.

It fit her, because Kelsey was always in a good mood. And to prove that point, Rob had interrupted her in the act of decorating her door for Halloween. A large cartoon pumpkin with a happy face was tacked to her door and she was in the process of spreading caution tape and fake spider webs in place.

"Hello," Rob mumbled nervously. He was all too aware of his own appearance— he was pushing thirty-five, but he was pale and skinny. His arms seemed to lack muscle tone no matter how hard he tried to push himself to work out. And his lack of people-skills always showed in the way his shoulders hunched and his eyes darted away nervously.

"Where are your Halloween decorations?" She pressed him, glancing at his plain door with a little pout.

"Oh... it's only September," he stammered.

"I know," she admittedly guiltily. "But I love Halloween."

"Me too," he said and hurried to his door, feeling stupid and wishing he could come up with something better to say. "Maybe I'll put some things up... you know... to keep up with you."

She rested her hand on her hip and gave him a smile. He thought he detected a hint of sympathy in her expression, and he hated himself even more. "Better hurry," she said. "Before Christmas gets anymore of an ego and tries to steal it from us."

He laughed. "Well... have fun!"

"Bye," she called after him as Rob shut the door.

As soon as the door closed, Rob shut his eyes and groaned. "Stupid stupid," he muttered to himself. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Rob?" He sighed and placed the computer tower on the floor.

His self-belittlement wasn't only for the typical reasons. Robert Bradford was a successful author. He'd published half a dozen books, and achieved enough financial independence that he could write full time from his apartment. As a result, he lived like a shut-in. But that's how he preferred it. He was never good with the spoken word— probably why he gravitated toward writing. He needed some way to express himself, because god knew, he couldn't do it verbally.

How the hell can a guy who compiles volumes of stories, have such a hard time saying a few of clever things to the cute girl across the hall? It was a question he asked himself often. There was no excuse other than him not responding well to social pressure. It made his brain freeze like a deer in headlights. Alone, things had a tendency to come so much more naturally.

He sighed. Alone. That was how he lived. His little apartment space was a lonely one. That was probably why he found such comfort in his imagination. Rob didn't have many friends. So he invented characters in his mind— people he would someday like to meet. They became like friends, and he wrote them down. They were hits, because his books sold well. But sometimes they weren't enough, and Rob began to catch himself more and more talking to himself, the way a child would talk to an imaginary friend. Of course he knew there was nobody there to actually converse with him... but sometimes it was nice to close his eyes and pretend for a few minutes... On some nights, he'd narrate his entire mundane existence out loud, as though explaining it to an interviewer, or an old long lost friend, or a time traveler from ancient times... And some nights, he'd power up his Xbox, look to all his friends and connections— their cartoonish icons that were forever in a state of slumber because they'd all either started families, moved on, or passed away— and he'd sigh and wish they'd come back.

He took a final glance out of the peep hole in time to see Kelsey stretching on her tip toes to reach the top of the door frame. Her sweat shirt rose slightly and Rob was treated to a view of bare skin just above the waist-line— a smooth tan tummy and a pleasant curve of her lower back. He felt his loins tighten...

He turned away and wandered into the turret that overlooked the front of the building. His apartment wasn't huge, but boy did it have character. The bedroom was small, the bathroom was even smaller. The kitchen was basically just a kitchenette that shared space with the living room. But just off of the living room, Rob had the top floor of a large circular turret. He'd turned it into his work space with his array of computers in a cockpit configuration. Bulletin boards of notes lined the walls and a telescope overlooked the street on a tri-pod— his "periscope" to the outside world.

The character of his home was the reason that he stayed as long as he did. That and the comfort sounds. The noises of the other tenants that carried through the thin walls and floor. He could pretty much hear everyone moving throughout the ancient building, and the sound sometimes comforted him when he was feeling especially lonely. People were within earshot of him. He was part of a community, even if he didn't really talk to them. It made him feel cozy.

He tore himself away from the windows. Today he had work to do. Rob lugged the computer tower into the turret and set it up. He proceeded to hook up the wires and run the cables through the desk array. When it powered up, he was pleasantly surprised. "No way," he muttered to himself. It actually worked! His first bit of good news today. His usual writing computer had finally given up the ghost last night— it was on its last leg.

He removed the broken one. It was garbage— doubtful even a thief would want it. He mentally rehearsed what he would say to Kelsey when he 'bumped into her' again as he carried it out the door and into the hall.

But he found the hallway empty. She had apparently finished up and gone inside. There was a pang of disappointment. He left the computer on the top step and returned inside.

He dropped into his desk chair and stared up at the ceiling with a sigh. He really needed to get some serious writing done today. His current project was starting to drag, and Rob knew just how dangerous procrastination could get. The less he worked on the book, the less excited about the project he became, and the more he'd forget about previous chapters. He needed to strike while his excitement was high, but every time he tried, he found his attention wandering.

The desk chair was in the center of the turret. He spun around, looking at the cock-pit configured computer array. The charts and storyboards on the walls, the scribbled notes. His eyes were once again drawn to the big windows that overlooked the street, and the telescope positioned within. Rob didn't like to think of himself as a voyeur, but he didn't have much normal contact with others. And breathing life and realism into his characters was something he struggled with. It had been his idea (inspired by an old Hitchcock film) to set up the telescope and keep tabs on his neighbors.

There was the husband and wife in 1B— they seemed cool, the handicapped student and his single mother in 2A, just below his own apartment. There was a new tenant in 2B who'd moved in last month, though he hadn't met them yet (although that wasn't really a surprise considering how little time Rob spent coming and going). And of course, Kelsey across the hall.

Rob had drawn a little cross section of the Victorian and tacked it to his wall with sticky notes that detailed everyone's routines. He supposed he was crossing into 'crazy stalker' territory, but he preferred to view it as the actions of an obsessive private investigator, and it was more fun to pretend that than to face the reality that he was a creep.

He took a quick glance into his telescope and startled to see a moving truck parked out front. It was probably for 1A, the only vacant apartment in the six unit building. Furniture was being removed— mismatched hand-me-down items, some new Ikea boxes, and a folding futon. Three girls came and went— college girls from the looks of things. Rob's heart sped up. Interesting.

College students were nothing out of the ordinary. The town appealed to hipsters, and the main street often rented to students at the nearby university. But these three were definitely the kind of women that would make a lonely guy like Rob sit up and take notice. He spied a busty one with an olive complexion and wild curly hair; a skinny brunette with a sharp face and super-model length straight brown hair; and a redhead with glasses who appeared to be drowning in an oversized hoodie. All three were pretty— maybe not 'Kelsey pretty' but they definitely warranted a closer look. He added them to the map behind his chair, intending to do some snooping at a later time.

"Later," he promised himself out loud. "For now, you need to focus," he slapped himself once across the face, before returning his attention to the computer he'd brought up from the basement. Despite the age and neglect, it ran beautifully, almost too well. Why had he never bothered with this one before?

He loaded his old documents, making the virtual world feel like home. He loaded his current story and stared blankly at the place where he'd left off... he wasn't sure what to type.

The sound of walking on the old wooden floors stole his attention. Kelsey moving around in her apartment just on the other side of the wall. He smiled to himself, charmed at the sounds of her cute feet on the floor. Those pink converse sneakers and her orange fuzzy socks— to match her Halloween decorating, no doubt. He wondered if she painted her toenails— probably something to celebrate the season. That thought spiraled into another. He wondered if she was wearing black and orange panties. Maybe even a thong. Was she the type of girl who would? God, he hoped so.

Before Rob knew it, he was inspired, but it wasn't thoughts of his story. It was lewd fantasies of Kelsey— what kind of woman was she behind closed doors? Was she innocent and sweet in the bedroom, laying on her back, letting her handsome Prince take her gently? Or was she a hidden tiger, waiting to spring to life? Did she use toys on herself on those lonely nights, or just her hands. The thought that she might spend days laying awake just on the other side of the wall, gasping as she ran her hands over her body made his crotch begin to tighten up. Did she ever bite her lip, and look at the wall, and consider knocking, coming over here and throwing herself at her neighbor for some desperate and eager release?

Curiously, he began to type. Robert Bradford was in no way an erotic novelist. His professional genres were suspense and horror. But the act of writing was much more intense for him than simply reading a story or watching a movie. It brought things to life in his head. It was savory— like slow eating a piece of chocolate and thinking about every little bit of it. Using all of his brain power to completely imagine something amplified everything... including pleasure.

And at the moment, Rob decided that he needed some way to satisfy the overwhelming craving that he had for his sexy and adorable neighbor. His crotch was stirring itself to life. He had dabbled in love scenes, but outright filthy sex scenes was something new. He supposed he could have simply watched porn, gotten himself off, and moved on with his day. But the urges were growing, especially lately. He wanted Kelsey. The only porn star who remotely came close was a girl named Peta Jensen... but the resemblance was still too far off. Rob needed more. He needed his actual crush.

If the pornographic scene that he really desired didn't existed, why not make it himself in his mind?

He began to type, quickly mapping out a scene— rehashing the awkward interaction that he'd had with Kelsey in the hallway. It was painful, remembering the way he'd struggled to speak to her, the need to say something clever to her, and failing miserably. It was time for a different ending to that encounter. A few minutes after his 'character' walked away, there would come a knock at the door. When his character answered, Kelsey would be standing there. Her zip-up hooded sweatshirt would be opened and her breasts exposed— she hadn't been wearing a bra beneath that whole time in the hallway.

Rob liked where this was going. His hand wandered to his lap and he rubbed his growing erection over the fabric of his khakis.

Now he needed something for her character to say... some opening line, like a porno movie, that would set off the sex scene.

His fingers flew over the keys. He giggled as he typed her dialogue line: "The only thing I like more than Halloween, is sucking cock." It was cheesy, he was aware. He could do so much better. But it ultimately led to a hot scene in which 'Kelsey' gave 'Rob' a wicked blow job, right there in the open doorway that overlooked the 3rd floor landing. Then they went inside and fucked like rabbits— she rode him on the couch like a woman possessed. The scene gave Rob an aching erection. As he typed things out, from the dirty talk, to the hot sweaty sex, he could feel his member throbbing. He considered the characters moving throughout the apartment, fucking in dozens of positions. But decided against it. He was too turned on now, and he needed release. He'd already devoted more time to typing this out than he intended. It was time for the climax. Rob's character cries out that he's going to cum. She does too, and the orgasm together.

The ending was a little hurried, but it was needed, because Rob definitely needed to satisfy himself, and right now. He concluded the naughty short story with something cliché, yet simple: "Kelsey returned to her apartment as though nothing had ever happened. But Rob knew... this was the start of something grand in his life."

Not bad. Maybe he'd even submit the story to one of those online erotic literature forums (under a pen name, of course), but first...

He leaned back in his desk chair. One hand rubbed his throbbing member, as the other hit save and dropped the document into a folder labeled with a simple 'X'. No sooner had Rob accomplished this feat than there came a sudden jarring knock at the door. It cut right through his lust induced bliss.

Talk about shitty timing.

"Umm, just a minute," he grumbled awkwardly, tossing his tissue box to the side of the desk, and hurrying to tuck his boner into his pants. It tented obnoxiously. Fate had a way of being cruel. Rob's manhood was large, despite his skinny frame. He had been gifted with a cock that fell just shy of 10 inches, with a thick meaty shaft. Unfortunately his lack of people-skills left him with few opportunities to use it. On more than one occasion he'd look at himself in the mirror and hum a few sarcastic notes from a famous song about irony.

His hands trembled a little as he stood from his desk and tucked his cock up into the waistband of his pants, the head reaching past his belly button. He pulled his shirt down until it covered his crotch.

It wasn't great. The outline still printed through his clothes. He sighed. "What am I? In fuckin' high school again?" He hadn't had to go to this sort of trouble to hide the fact that he was masturbating since he was kid living at home, and his parents would interrupt him for one reason or another.

The knocking came again, sounding more urgent.

Hopefully it was just the landlord or maintenance guy, telling him of a water shut off. Just a quick interaction, Rob wouldn't even need to open the door all the way.

But when he peered out of the peephole, he spied Kelsey. His heart jumped. His first instinct was one of self-preservation. He'd written a dirty story about her, and somehow she had known and was here to slap him, or belittle him, or call him a creep. He'd done something wrong and now he was in trouble. He'd be humiliated and embarrassed, and have to issue apologies on top of apologies, before withdrawing into some hole to live out his pathetic days.

No. That was silly. There's no way she knew.