The Woman in Flat 213

Hi all

So this is one of my first erotic stories - please be kind! It's not based on anything in particular, although I will admit that I've had a number of inspirations! I'm planning to write more of these, and have a vague idea of where it's going, but even so, ideas welcome!

Cheers

GT

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"Do you need some help?"

Emily jumped in surprise when she heard the voice behind her, almost causing her to drop the boxes she was carrying. She turned to find a woman in her early forties standing behind her. She was of medium build, and significantly taller than Emily, but her smile nevertheless put her at ease.

"Errrmm, no, thanks. These are all I have left to carry," she replied. "Actually, do you think you could get the door for me? It's just that one."

"Of course" the woman stepped forward and pushed the door open, allowing Emily to stumble through it, into her new flat. She looked around. "So, you're moving into this old place, then?"

"Yeah. My first new place," Emily replied.

Emily, who was approaching her 19th birthday, and just starting out at a university in London. She had been planning on moving in with her boyfriend, who was already in his second year there, but they had had a rather messy breakup a few weeks before Fresher's Week, and since it was too late to apply for Halls, her parents had decided to buy the long lease on a small studio apartment that she could stay in nearby.

"Ahh, the joys of your first proper flat," the woman said with a faraway look in her eyes. "I remember mine. Not unlike this one... Although back then, I couldn't afford the heating." She turned and offered her hand. "My name is Elizabeth, by the way. I don't think I caught yours?"

"Emily." she shook, and was surprised by the firmness of the handshake. The woman was stronger than she looked.

"I live a few doors down, with my daughter, Ginny..." She saw the look on Emily's face. "I know, I know. I was going through my Harry Potter phase at the time. It could be worse - I could be naming her "Khaleesi," like some of those bloody Thrones fans do now."

Emily laughed. "I know what you mean. My mum is feminist. Apparently, my parents named me after a famous Suffragette."

Elizabeth smiled. "Pankhurst, or Davison?"

Emily just shrugged. "Davison, I think. Pankhurst was actually 'Emmeline,' not 'Emily.'"

"Oh really? I must've been hearing it wrong. So, you moving in with your boyfriend, then... Emily?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," Emily replied, her face darkening. "It's just me."

"Oh... Oh. I see..." Elizabeth said, in what sounded like a sincerely apologetic voice, her eyebrows raising somewhat. "So all on your own, are you? Tell you what, if you need anything, I'm in Flat 213. My door is always open." She began to make her exit. "I should probably be getting back, I'm afraid. My daughter will be bursting for the toilet."

"Why would that concern you... Oh." Emily suddenly realised what it might mean. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't think."

"It's all right. I do have a tendency to be forthright about things like that." Elizabeth smiled. "She's 18 as well. Not exactly the kind of age to have your mother worrying about things like that, I'm afraid. But hey ho, we take the hand life deals us."

That's certainly for true, Emily thought to herself bitterly. Outwardly, she smiled. "Okay, see you later!"

Once the Elizabeth was gone, Emily began her work unpacking the large boxes and cases. Her parents had already had it furnished, with a large double bed, a couple of armchairs and coffee table, a large entertainment set with surround sound, and a nice kitchen area with proper facilities, but she needed to inject some of her personality to it, and make it more her style. They had already installed wi-fi and a Sky box, but the television had only just been delivered this morning, so she would have to set it up herself. Emily knew that if she brought any of her friends here, they would immediately think she was a spoiled rich kid, but she didn't care. She hadn't had a choice in the matter, after all, and her parents had always made an effort to keep her grounded and force her to live by their moral values. There was always more she could do to avoid this image, though. Up until now, she had lived in a upscale, rural part of Northern Ireland, gone to boarding school and had probably been quite sheltered. So she was hoping to live a little, experience the world and make as many friends as she could. And maybe move on from that knob-head she had been dating.

He had seemed perfectly nice and at the same time charmingly handsome. A big, strapping London boy on a lads' holiday to Belfast, he had been enticing from the moment she'd danced with him in the club they'd met at, and he in turn had been quite taken by her sweet features and Irish accent. The sex was great as well. She had secretly boasted to her friends about it at length.

And by "it," she was referring to his dick.

She'd even decided to follow him to London to attend his university - which, itself, was one of London's most highly regarded, so her parents had had no problem with her putting in so much work and so much effort to get accepted into it. But then the time came, and shortly before she had set off for London, he'd sent her a text telling her that he was seeing someone else.

That was it.

He'd shattered her 18-year old heart in the space of just one text message.

Her parents had supported her, obviously, and offered to help her find another university (her grades were excellent, and they had friends in high places, so they would have had no difficulty), but she'd had her heart set on going to this one, and she'd worked so hard to get this place; that piece of shit wasn't going to spoil it for her. Plus, she wanted to get in on her own merits, not through nepotism. So she'd proceeded as normal. They'd found the studio apartment, and purchased the long lease on it - hoping that, if she decided to stay on in London, she would have a permanent base there, and if she decided to move back to Northern Ireland, they'd have somewhere to rent out. Which brought her to now.

—

Hours later, Emily had finished her unpacking, and lying on her bed, her hair wet from her shower, editing something on Wikipedia using her laptop and talking to her mother on her phone.

"So, sweetheart, how was the move?" Her mother asked

"The move worked out great, Mum! It all fits perfectly," she said. "The TV isn't set up, though. I'm going to have a stab at that tomorrow. There's a very friendly woman who lives a few doors down - Elizabeth, I believe. Maybe she can help."

"Oh lovely! What is this woman like, then? It's always good to befriend your neighbours, that's what I learned!"

"She's very friendly. Has a nice smile. And she offered me help whenever I needed it." Emily felt herself yawning. "Anyway, I gotta go, mom. Need an early night, tonight. This unpacking has wiped me out. Love you!"

"Goodnight, sweetheart! Love you too!"

She hung up, and, putting her phone aside, went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. As she did so, she admired herself in the mirror - at 18, she cut a very fine figure. She was short and willowy, with pale, unblemished skin, shimmering blonde hair and bright blue eyes that stared right into your soul.

At least, that's what her boyfriend had told her.

In that same text message he had used to dump her.

That prick. She felt her anger and pain at the memories start to return, so she quickly finished up and went into her bedroom. Throwing off her dressing gown, she climbed into bed in her T-shirt and plain, white cotton knickers, grabbed her laptop, and finished off the edit. Once it was saved, she went to her Netflix account and put on a couple of episodes of the comedy series she was watching. She had a feeling she was going to be doing a lot of this in the coming days; she used to get dreadful homesickness at school, and it hadn't worn off with age. Watching things on Netflix was what helped her get by. Eventually, though, she shut down the laptop, as well as her phone, and put them on the table next to her bed before switching off the light. Luckily, her tiredness claimed her very quickly, and she was asleep within moments.

Two hours later, however, she felt herself being awoken by a gloved hand clamping over her mouth.

When she opened her eyes and looked around, though, it was still very dark in the room, so she couldn't see very well. But the fact that there was a hand on her mouth told her that there was someone in the room with her, and that person was probably not someone she wanted in there. She instinctively began to scream - despite the hand, she could still make quite a noise. But she stopped when she felt something cold, sharp and metallic rest on her throat, and, with horror, realised it was a knife. At the same time, a voice hissed in her ear.

"Scream and you'll regret it."

This did it. She fell completely silent. But internally, she was still desperate to scream - all she could feel at the moment was utter terror. She had heard stories about young women being attacked and raped in their flats by armed intruders, but she couldn't believe it would happen after just one night. Next thing she knew, the light came on. And what greeted her only added to her confusion and terror.

Dressed in dark navy blue clothing and black leather gloves, holding a large hunting knife in her hand, and a bag slung over her shoulder, was Elizabeth. The seemingly friendly, neighbourly woman she had spoken to not twelve hours ago. But she looked very different now. Her warm smile was gone, and replaced with a very cold, unemotional stare, her hair was tied up tightly in a bun, and standing over Emily, she looked quite frightening.

"E-Eliza-?"

"I swear to God, Emily. If you so much as make a sound, even just to speak, I will cut your throat. Don't try and test me," she said, plainly, cutting her off.

Emily just fell silent. She wasn't much of a cryer - her mother had always told her that she was made of stronger stuff than most people her age - but now she wanted nothing more than to sob her eyeballs out, to beg for mercy. But all she did was keep eye contact with Elizabeth, determined not to show her any weakness. Elizabeth smiled, but not the same warm smile as before. This one had the same coldness about it, presumably because of the eyes. "That's better. Don't move a muscle." She slipped the bag off her shoulder and placed it on the ground, before reaching forward and pulling the duvet off Emily, throwing it to the ground. It was quite a chilly night, and even though the flat was not too cold, she began to shiver a little as the cool air met her warm legs.

Ignoring this, Elizabeth stepped forward and put the knife to Emily's chin.

"Now," she said, firmly. "Here's what's going to happen now. First, I'm going to undress you. Then I'm going to take some photographs of you, which you will pose for. After that, I'm going to tie you up. If, at any point, you move unless directed to, or make so much as a sound, I'm going to make the last moments of your life very painful. Understand?" Despite her terror at the realisation of what Elizabeth was probably going to do to her, Emily nodded. "Good, then we're on the same page. Now, if you could please sit up for me, there's a good girl."

Emily sat up, and Elizabeth took hold of the hem of her t-shirt, carefully sliding it up her torso. Emily lifted her arms and the shirt was off. She wasn't wearing a bra to bed, and her boobs fell free. Even in the awfulness of her situation, Emily still cringed somewhat:

She hated her boobs.

They were very, very small - not too small that they weren't there, but still so small that they were like little dog noses. The cup size on her bra was AA. Her friends used to assure her they were cute, but she used to get made fun of by some of the less pleasant girls at school whenever she stepped out of the showers. And even in this situation, they embarrassed her.

But Elizabeth merely pushed her back down, and ordered her to raise her hips, taking hold of the waistband of her knickers. Wanting with every fibre of her being to refuse, but knowing that she would probably just get killed with the knife if she did, Emily complied, and the knickers were slid down her legs and off, leaving her completely naked, and shivering. To her horror, Elizabeth then bent down, reached into her bag, and withdrew two things. The first was what looked like a medium-sized vibrator, and the other was a very expensive looking camera. She threw her the vibrator.

"Right..." Elizabeth said. "I want you to sit upright, with your knees bent and your legs wide apart. Then I want you to turn that vibe up to three settings. Can you do that?"

Fighting back tears, Emily did so.

"Now, I want you to start massaging it against your clitoris. Carefully, so you're just teasing yourself."

Emily's stomach dropped. There was absolutely no way she was doing this. She couldn't make a sound, but for a few seconds, she just sat there, frozen. Unwilling to move an inch. Without a word, Elizabeth reached down and picked up the knife, advanced on Emily and put the tip to her cheek, applying just enough pressure for it to sting, but not to cut into her flesh. Eventually, Emily hastily reached down, and began to touch the vibrator to her sex, gasping audibly as the sensations hit her. Satisfied, Elizabeth put the knife back down, picked up the camera and held it up.

"Okay. Okay. Now, I want you to give a big, satisfied smile. Like you're really enjoying yourself. None of that sadness." Emily struggled, and managed to force her most convincing smile, and continued to carefully stroke herself at the requested speed. She continued to breathe heavily at the stimulation. She heard several clicks and snaps as Elizabeth stepped around her, photographing her from several angles, including one close up so that it had a perfect tunnel vision of her now enlarged clitoris, moistening pussy lips and the glistening vibrator as her juices made it slightly damp.

Eventually, though, she stopped. Then she addressed her again.

"Next, I want you to put the vibrator down and start massaging your boobs. Carefully stroke the nipples with your index fingers." Once again, Emily complied, raising her hands to her chest, and starting to carefully squeeze and play with her boobs. She squeezed gently and carefully, circling the nipples as she did so, but her head soon fell back, her eyes closing, as the sudden sensation hit her. Her nipples were also very small, but they were extremely sensitive, and she felt herself getting more and more turned on down below. But she was still conscious of the sound of the camera snapping from every angle. And it wasn't long before she was ordered to stop.

Putting the camera to one side, Elizabeth picked up Emily's laptop and phone switched them both on. It took a few seconds, but eventually, the password screen came up for both. She handed them to Emily one at a time. "Put in your passwords. Go on." Emily froze at this, and made no move to do anything on either. "Look," Elizabeth sighed, reaching for the knife. "We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way."

Getting the message, Emily quickly entered her password on her computer, and the four-digit code on her iPhone, before handing each back to her. Setting them down, Elizabeth took the charger cable for the phone, connected it to the laptop, and then took a USB out of her bag. She inserted it into the port, before starting to type away. Eventually, she finished.

"This little piece of malware that I'm installing into your computer and phone is quite neat," she said. "The company that I work for created it a couple of months ago. Just put it into any device and it allows you to monitor all activity from that device, be it any incoming and outgoing call, message, email or whatever you like. Basically, any activity on that device transmits to mine." She put the two devices on a table. "While we wait for that to install, how about we start tying you up? You know the drill..." She reached into her bag and took out some leather cuffs.

Then she pushed Emily onto her back, straddled her chest and began to carefully attach her wrists to the bedpost, keeping them stretched out as far as she could get them. Then she scooched down and did the same thing to her ankles. This left Emily tied spread-eagle and naked on her back. Satisfied, she began to rummage into her bag, until she found what she was looking for, a roll of duct tape.

"I'm going to gag you now," she said. "I know the temptation will be to scream, so, need I remind you that if you do anything other than remain still, you will regret it very soon."

Now giving up on her attempts not to cry, Emily began to weep heavily as she nodded. Sitting by her head, Elizabeth dried her eyes with her hand, and picked up the tape. As she began to get started, she stopped, and looked intently into her captive's eyes. As if making a spur of the moment decision, she leant forward and gave her a long, deep kiss on the mouth. There was no tongue involved, and Emily didn't resist, so Elizabeth just kept it up, putting her hand on the back of Emily's head and starting to stroke her hair. The kiss went on for about two minutes, before Elizabeth pulled away, and began wrapping the tape carefully around Emily's mouth, tilting her head back and forth with the movements, winding it round a couple of times, and eventually tearing it off. With the gag on, Emily was now truly helpless and vulnerable. Elizabeth heartily approved. She leant forward and kissed her again, this time on both cheeks, ignoring the tears that were still streaming down them.

Her captive now completely at her mercy, Elizabeth decided to take her time. She started to run her fingers over Emily's tiny boobs, carefully stroking them and playfully tapping the nipple. This caused fresh tears, this time of embarrassment, which were replaced by gasps as the older woman began to squeeze them between her thumb and forefinger, tugging on them lightly.

The cold smile returned.

"You have nice little titties, Emily," she intoned, softly. "Lovely and small, so cute to play with... and such sensitive nipples!" She delighted in tickling the left one a couple of times, causing Emily to flinch and jerk. Moving down a little, she looked at Emily's vagina, and her tone became a little disapproving. "No, no, this will never do," she said. "Your pubic hair is much too thick. I like my girls to be hairless." She took a small clump and, without warning, pulled it out by the roots, causing Emily to howl with pain. "It will have to be shaved. I might do that before I leave tonight."

At this point, she started to take her gloves off, and lay them down on the table, before sitting beside Emily on the bed and smoothing her long fingernails down her shirt.

"I think it's time I did what I came here to do..." she said, in a malicious tone. "You see, I have two major sexual fetishes that I need to satisfy constantly... First, I am almost exclusively interested in girls who are in their early adult years. Newly developed and physically mature, but still very young and naive to the world. I find it so sweet..." She paused. "Second, erotic tickling..." she held her fingernails up to Emily's eyes. "There is nothing I like more than taking a young, vulnerable girl such as yourself, strapping her naked to a bed, and tickling the lights out of her. And before you ask, I prefer to do it with non-consenting partners. Illegal? Definitely. Immoral? Definitely. But titillating as hell? You bet!"

Now, Emily began to struggle with her bonds and scream behind the gag. She was super ticklish. It was a family joke even - if you wanted to annoy her, you only had to tickle her a little, and she'd go crazy. Now she was completely exposed and vulnerable, unable to defend herself or escape, about to be tickled for God knows how long by a woman who, by the look of her nails and fingers, clearly knew what she was doing. Ignoring her, Elizabeth began to crack her knuckles, and blow on her nails to shine them out. She held them up, outwards, and began to move them towards Emily's armpits. Emily desperately shook her head, her tear-stained eyes pleading with Elizabeth not to do what she was about to do to her.