Friendly Neighbor 3

Justine was having a great time until she heard the car door outside: on her knees with a cock in her mouth, hands cuffed behind her back, vinyl jumpsuit unzipped to her navel putting her breasts on display. Her partner's hand was wrapped in her hair nice and tight, and she figured she was only a few minutes from making him cum all over her breasts, and then having her suit pulled the rest of the way off so she could be bent over and fucked hard. Mark had proven to be an excellent lover, with lots of stamina and a quick recovery time—and no qualms about throwing her small, curvy body around like a rag doll.

Unfortunately, he was also married, proving to her once again that there were no perfect men.

They'd met a couple weeks ago, during a day hike organized by an outdoors social group, and had had an instant attraction. He was tall and slim, with strong-looking hands and a devilish smile; she was short and fit, with generous hips and breasts apparent even through her practical hiking gear. He didn't make any effort to hide his ring—or his interest—and as the hike progressed, they'd fallen further and further back from the group, talking and laughing. Finally, when the last hiker had disappeared around a bend, he'd asked her if she wanted to see one of his favorite spots, a little off the main trail. Justine hadn't even hesitated to tell him he could show her anything he wanted, and soon they were overlooking a rather picturesque waterfall—which she got to enjoy for exactly ten seconds before he turned her head for a kiss, and she grabbed his ass.

That first encounter was rushed—but hot. He made her cum grinding against his hand down her jeans, and she took his cock deep into her mouth, swallowing every drop when he exploded inside her. Afterwards they agreed the tryst had been too hot to be a one-time thing, and had exchanged contact information. And Justine continued to not ask any questions about his wedding ring—she had a birthday coming up, and had decided she was going to treat herself to a no-strings affair.

They were able to meet up a couple times in the following weeks, always at his initiative. Once he rented a room at a downtown hotel during his lunch hour, and she arrived in heels and a sweater dress that hugged every curve like a second skin—and when he pulled it off her he saw the wicked black lingerie she'd worn underneath. He took great delight in spending the next hour tearing it off a piece at a time, stuffing her panties into her mouth and tying her up with the rest, before taking her again and again.

The next time they met, he texted her late one night, asking if she was free—she'd sent him her address, and he had shown up dressed in a tuxedo that had practically given her an orgasm on the spot. On the other hand, she'd opened the door wearing nothing but a pair of. They spent an enthusiastic couple hours playing secret agent role-playing games before he had to leave.

This most recent encounter was the most elaborate. He'd texted her a link to a local goth club's masquerade event—masks and fetish clothing required for entry. Feeling a thrill at meeting her illicit lover somewhere public, she'd dug out a feather mask and black vinyl catsuit with a shiny silver zipper up the front, completing the look with knee-high spiked heel boots. When they had met up later that night on the club's dancefloor, his jaw had dropped—and that was before she'd started pulling the zipper down. For her part she had enjoyed his tight leather pants and mesh shirt—but her favorite part had been the Zorro mask, which had allowed them to maul each other amongst the other dancers without fear of being recognized. Judging by the wild abandon going on around them, Justine had thought they weren't the only ones feeling so liberated, and had made a note to keep an eye on the club's calendar for future fun themes.

After an hour he'd dragged her out to his car, both so turned on she'd started sucking him as he drove off—he kept one hand on the wheel, and the other on the back of her head. She'd kept it up throughout the trip, varying the depth and speed of her ministrations, bringing him close but then backing off. He had groaned and called her a tease, but she had a plan for how she wanted the evening to go, and it hadn't involve swallowing his cum in such an uncomfortable position.

When he had finally stopped the car and she had raised her head, she'd been caught off-guard: he'd brought her to his place—a nice-looking apartment building overlooking one of the city's lakes. She had turned to him, a question on her face, making him laugh.

"How naughty do you want to be tonight, baby? Because I want to be extra bad tonight," he had said, leering at her breasts spilling out of her half-unzipped top.

Justine had blushed and almost climbed onto his lap right there, but had managed to ask, "Is it...okay? We won't be interrupted or anything, will we?"

Mark had smiled slightly, stroking her face. "Trust me—everything will be okay. No-one will be there but us, I promise."

Twenty minutes later, at the sound of a door closing and a car alarm turning on, Mark swore. "No fucking way—this isn't happening."

Justine pulled her mouth off him. "Tell me that's not who I think it is!" she hissed.

Mark was already pulling her to her feet and hustling her deeper into the apartment. "She's supposed to be with friends all night! I'm sorry—I'll think of something, but she can't find you here."

Justine staggered along in her heels, her hands still cuffed, nervous and confused. "What are you talking about? Where are you taking me—ah!" She was pulled to a sudden stop in front of a sliding glass door. Mark quickly pulled the curtain aside, followed by the door and screen, letting a cool breeze wash over her. He hustled her onto a wide balcony with a couple chairs and a fantastic view of the lake—none of which she was in the mood to enjoy just then.

"What are you doing Mark? How long do you expect me to wait out here?" she asked, tugging on her restraints. "And get these things off me!" But Mark was already gone, darting back into the apartment, only to reappear a moment later, tossing her purse onto the ground and pressing a tiny key into her grasping hands.

"Look, I'm sorry, I'll think of something—just wait out here and keep quiet. Here's the key—you can unlock them yourself. I need to hurry—stay quiet, please!" And with that he was back inside the apartment, sliding the door closed—locking it with a click—and shutting the curtains, leaving her alone in the dark.

Justine stood there in the cool night air, both furious and embarrassed—but mostly furious. "Unbelievable!" she whispered angrily, her fingers trying to maneuver the key into place, but finding it difficult—unlocking cuffs while wearing them wasn't something she'd had a lot of practice doing. From the apartment she could hear voices, including a woman who didn't sound very happy. "Stupid fucking married asshole—"

"Shhh," came a voice from the darkness behind her.

Justine jumped, dropping the key as she spun around, biting down on a shriek. She realized that the patio was a concrete ledge that stretched along the whole length of the building, with a wall of bars separating one unit's space from another. Through the bars to the next apartment's deck she could see a man leaning against the guard wall, his back to the lake, smoking and looking at her, a slight smile visible through the gloom.

Justine suddenly remembered that she was basically topless, and spun back around, flushing, frantically looking along the ground for the key. "Don't 'shh' me," she snapped quietly.

The man chuckled and took a drag off his cigarette. "Suit yourself," he murmured," but the lady of the house is not someone you want to meet in your current condition, so you shouldn't give her any reason to come to the balcony right now."

Justine did her best to ignore him despite the excellent advice and, having spotted the key, carefully knelt down to pick it up. Key once more in hand, she again began fumbling with the cuffs, and was irritated to realize her hands were shaking, both from stress and from the cool breeze that was covering her breasts in goosebumps. She swore under her breath as her fingers fumbled with the lock, almost dropping the key again.

"Need a hand with those?" the man asked lazily behind her. "If you come over here, I can unlock them—at least give you a fighting chance when she comes out here for her post-fight smoke."

Justine froze at his words. "She's going to come out here?" she hissed, looking over her shoulder at him.

She saw him nod. "It sounds like they're having an argument right now, in fact, so you may not have much time. But, you know, it's up to you how you want to meet her. Or if you want to meet her at all."

Gritting her teeth she turned to face him, picking her way carefully around the patio furniture, ignoring the appreciative looks he was giving her—although, she had to admit, under other circumstances she might have appreciated the image she was presenting, her chest thrust forward, her pale skin practically glowing in the weak moonlight, dramatically framed by the black vinyl.

She made it to the bars and turned her back to him, holding out the key behind her. "I would appreciate your help please," she whispered as politely as she could, trying to rein in her temper and embarrassment. "Thank you very mu—oh!" That last was caused by his hands reaching through the bars and grasping her breasts, his hands much warmer than the night air.

"That's. Not. The. Key," she hissed through clenched teeth, shaking the item in question at him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You looked cold," his voice murmured right by her ear, his words accompanied by a whiff of tobacco. "And I wanted to make sure you knew all your options. I could undo your cuffs, and then watch the resulting screaming match when she comes out here—it would be loud, but it would also be funny. Or..." he paused, his hands filled with her flesh, his fingers finding and pinching her hard nipples. Which were only hard because it was cold, she told herself firmly—nothing more.

"Or?" she whispered, not daring to move—and his warm hands /did/ feel nice after the evening breeze.

"Or, I can help you climb over the top of this barrier, and let you leave from my place," he murmured, one hand leaving her breasts to slide down her body, making her gasp as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her suit, knowing that if he went too far down he'd realize she had no underwear on. "Eventually."

Justine tried to maintain her composure as she muttered back, "How /eventually/ are we talking?"

The man chuckled, pulling his hands away, as she heard him take a step back. "Does it really matter? Would you like me to go back inside and give you time to think it over?"

"No!" she whispered in near panic, before regaining her composure. "No. Please let me out of these cuffs and into your apartment," she said with bad grace.

"Sir," he said, his lips quirked in a wicked smile.

"Excuse me?" she bristled.

"Ask me again, and call me 'sir'," he replied, his smile widening.

Justine ground her teeth together, but raised voices from the other side of the glass door made her surrender. "Will you please unlock the cuffs and let me into your apartment...sir?" she whispered.

"Of course—anything to help a lady in distress," he replied with mock gallantry. He took the key, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she felt him unlock the cuffs. Once free, she turned around while zipping up the suit. "Okay, now how am I going to get over this?" she asked.

The man pocketed the keys and cuffs, his expression suddenly all business. "I'll hold my hands out for you to step on—I should be able to boost you up enough for you to grab the top, and get your feet on this crossbeam," he said, lightly tapping said a thin beam that bisected the barrier. "Then you can get up and over, and I'll catch you on the way down. You'll need to give me your boots first though—and purse. Better hurry."

Justine nodded and passed him her purse first, then braced herself and pulled the boots off one at a time, grateful she hadn't worn the thigh-highs. "Okay, give me a boost," she said, already mourning the outfit she was about to ruin.

The man tossed her items through the glass door into his own darkened apartment and then said, "The clothes too."

"What?!" she squeaked, glancing nervously at the door behind her. "Will you stop messing around? We don't have time for this!"

"The clothes too," he repeated, his tone unyielding. "And I told you to call me sir. How long do you want to spend arguing about it?"

But Justine was already unzipping again. "Fine, /sir/" she snapped, doing her best to hide her dismay—she had hoped she could make a run for it as soon as she was on the other side, but it looked like he had had the same thought. And he already had her purse—which held her phone—so no calling a Lyft for a quick escape even if she did bolt.

Moving as quickly as she could without tearing the thin fabric, she peeled the suit off her body. She saw the man's eyes widen the moment he realized there wasn't anything under it except for her. Once off she folded it as neatly as she could and passed it through the bars, just as she heard raised voices and footsteps approaching the door. "Hurry!" she pleaded.

The man tossed the bundle after her other items and then knelt, thrusting a well-muscled arm through the gap, bracing it with his other hand. "Go," he ordered.

Justine gingerly placed her foot onto his palm, relieved when he held it steady. She took a step back, then leapt onto his hand. He grunted and pushed upward just as she pushed off again, giving her desperate jump few extra inches—just enough to catch the top of the barrier. She struggled to pull herself up, her feet flailing before finally caught the beam, allowing her to scramble up and over. She winced at the noise she was making—and at how cold and rough the metal was against her bare skin—but then she was hanging down the other side. She felt the man's hands grasp her hips and released her grip, allowing him to lower her to the ground, just as she heard the curtains being pulled back.

She started to take a step towards his darkened apartment but was stopped by his hand suddenly wrapping in her hair, forcing her to her knees. She looked up at him in a panic as the door opened behind her, and then he had his pants open and was shoving his cock into her face. Rather than take a hard penis to the eye, she opened her mouth and let him thrust inside her, looking up at him in disbelief as she heard footsteps approach from behind.

"Oh hey Jo, hey Mark—I'm sorry about the noise, we just got a little carried away," she heard her "rescuer" say, his voice calm even as he forced Justine onto his cock.

There was a startled silence, and then she heard a woman's voice slowly reply, "That's okay, Terry, I heard a noise and...wanted to make sure everything was okay. We didn't mean to interrupt you and your...friend there. Come on, Mark, let's leave these two be."

At the mention of her would-be lover's name Justine's eyes flared, and she let her hands twine up the man's—Terry's—legs, wrapping her lips around his shaft and beginning to move up and down it on her own. This was all Mark's fault, and she hoped seeing her suck his neighbor off made him suffer.

She heard Mark clear his throat and say in a tight voice, "Right behind you, honey, I just wanted to ask Terry something."

Jo's voice turned sharp. "It can wait, /dear/--they're busy. Come on." And a moment later Justine heard the slider close and lock behind her, followed by the swish of the curtains being drawn shut.

Justine stopped sucking to glare up at Terry, who murmured, "Do you fuck as good as you suck cock when you're angry? Because if you do, it's going to be a fun evening."

Justine did her best to ignore that and instead demanded, "Was that really necessary?"

Terry smiled and said mildly, "Was that really necessary, /sir/," before shoving her back onto his shaft. She made a sound of protest but found herself wrapping her lips back around him with a feeling of growing helplessness. He held her steady as his hips pumped him in and out of her mouth as he continued, "I didn't want there to be any question on what the noise was. Plus, Mark's an asshole, and I wanted him to see his mistress being treated right."

Justine rolled her eyes and pulled herself off him again with a gasp. "Making me suck your cock in the cold while kneeling on concrete is treating me right? Sir?" she added hastily when she felt his hand tighten in her hair again.

Terry chuckled and offered her his other hand. "You're right—you'll be much more comfortable kneeling inside."

Justine flushed and mumbled, "That's not what I meant...sir." But she took his hand and let him help her up, shivering as the stress of the moment passed and she was reminded that she was nude outside on a crisp autumn night. Although being nude inside a stranger's apartment wasn't necessarily an improvement, she thought uncomfortably—even if he did have a nice cock that she couldn't help noticing was a bit thicker than Mark's.

He kept a hand on the back of her neck and led her inside, holding her still as he closed the sliding glass door behind them. Justine luxuriated in the warmer air and looked down at her purse and clothes piled up by their feet. "Can I touch up my makeup please, sir?" she asked hopefully, thinking of her phone, and wondering how long it would take a Lyft to come get her—and f there was a lock on the bathroom door.

But Terry pulled her away from the door and her clothes, and into his apartment. "You look great—and your makeup would just get messed up again. But you should wash your hands—nobody's cleaned those barriers since I've lived here, so they're probably filthy.

She looked down and grimaced at the black smears covering her palms—he was right. Not only that, but there were some stains on her chest and legs where she'd come into contact with the metal while going over. She decided she would /not/ ask if she could borrow his shower though—she was in enough trouble already.

He guided her into a bathroom, and parked her behind the sink, moving to stand behind her. Looking into the mirror, she finally got a good look at her rescuer/captor. Terry was a little shorter than Mark (which still made him at least six inches taller than her), but broader in the shoulders and body, and with dark blonde hair instead of Mark's brown. His hands, when he rested them on her shoulders, looked calloused and rough, matching the firm, no-nonsense way he'd been handling her. She remembered how steady his arms had been when he'd boosted her up, and found herself wondering just how long he could hold up if he had to. Blushing at the thought, she turned on the water and focused on washing up, avoiding his gaze.

While she did he kneaded her shoulders with those strong fingers, and she felt herself relaxing slightly—he had made his intentions pretty clear, but didn't appear to be in any rush to press his advantage. Maybe things weren't as dire as they'd seemed—although the fact that he wasn't leaving her unattended didn't exactly bode well.

She finished cleaning her hands, wiping the worst of the smudges from her chest and legs in the process, and looked at him in the mirror as she dried off. "What now, sir?"

"What's your name?" he asked, his thumbs digging into her shoulder blades as he continued the massage.

Justine blinked, mentally shifting gears at the unexpected question, but replied, "Lisa, sir," giving him the name she used when she was out clubbing and had to deal with guys who wouldn't leave her alone.

"Lisa, hmm?" he asked skeptically, looking down at her. "Funny, you don't look like a Lisa." His hands slipped from her shoulders to her front, pulling her against his chest as he played with her breasts again. "Is that what it would say if I took a look at your driver's license?"