The Girl Next Door

CHAPTER ONE She giggled first. Her body trembled from the pleasure. Then the clattering sound of the table beneath her, bodies banging, cries, exuberant cries smacking the air – as if everything sane vanished and the whole f*****g world had gone awry. “Shush! You’re making too much noise!” But her whisper hardly fazed him. He grunted again, thrusting one more time into the warm, succulent furrow between Randi Savoy’s sweating thighs. Poised over Mike Rushton’s dining room table, Justin pressed in behind his girlfriend, pants and jockeys down to his ankles, his hands clutching her round pink ass cheeks and squeezing without regard to how much it hurt her. By then, she didn’t register anything but the raw pleasure of the moment in her grasping center. “Yeah, baby!” he cried for the umpteenth time, as his c**k pistoned faster still inside her velvety home. The pair hardly noticed the headlights flash across the dining room window… “Ooo, yeah, baby…” and on and on and on he spoke, as he crescendoed toward his climax. Nor did they hear the sound of the truck as it came to a halt and the engine died… She hummed beneath the boy, fanny swaying, feeling the fullness of the inner massage till she was dancing on a delicate high, teetering on the edge, her body ready to spring free of its last inhibitions. Nothing mattered but the banging now, the massage, the way her c******s bloomed into a powerful, sensitive bud. “Oh–God–Yes!” she was already whimpering, her voice earthy and mellow, but still girlish. She clung to the table, bearing down against the fleshy impaler, shivering from the inside out. The wild-eyed screaming was about to begin. “What the f**k!” The sharp, crackling voice that knocked her from the moment did not belong to Justin. Randi’s body seized up tight, hoping that it was all in her imagination. Meantime, Justin froze inside her with his c**k wilting like a plucked flower, before it slid from the furrow with a juicy pop. “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Mike Rushton roared. Slightly tipsy, Justin turned to the intruder, teetering to keep his balance, while gloating, his s**t-eating grin a mile wide. “Hey man, I jus fuckin’ my girlfriend.” “Oh, please, Justin, no!” Randi gasped. Humiliated, face beaming red, she remained glued with sweat to the top of the table. Mike pushed the boy at the shoulder a little harder than he planned. “Out!” was all he said to get him running toward the door. A little fear taking over now, the boy scrambled back into his pants, stumbling as he moved. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called, ever-so-cheerfully to Randi as he slipped into the night. Randi was too scared to say a word, to open her mouth, to move a muscle. Her naked ass hung out vulnerably, colored a resplendent shade of white, as a streak of moonlight flickered through the curtains against the naked flesh. Mike saw it all—handsome Mike, the guy next door, the hunky pilot who wore blue jeans and leather with exhilarating grace, who trimmed his hedges with a sexy day’s growth of beard and smiled with a winsome sweetness that made her belly clench up tight. At that moment, he was staring at the moist expanse of her intimate flesh, while she shivered against the table and wondered how in the hell she was going to get out of this embarrassing mess. “You little brat!” he accused, as he pulled her up by the nape of her neck. At least she was still wearing a tank-top that sufficiently covered her torso. Although with every breath, her chest heaved dramatically. This, of course, called attention to her n*****s, which were poking through her cotton shirt, inviting his response. The two stood close enough that she could smell his breath, his aftershave, the leather of his jacket and the hint of sweat on his warm skin. The aroma was enough to make her belly tingle with a familiar but verboten longing—something deeper and more verboten than she ever felt with Justin, or any other guy for that matter. Their close proximity, just inches apart, was enough to make the anxious schoolgirl crush on Mike Rushton come back to her a thousand fold. Her lips were parched and dry. Oh, yes! He was close enough to kiss. And close enough to feel his anger like a turbulent wave washing through her. Oh, please, dear God…she silently prayed, as he still held her by the neck. Randi Savoy was close enough to kiss—and, for a moment, it was the first thing in Mike’s mind before his better judgment won the battle. Right then, he should have just pushed her off as he’d done with the boy and ordered her home. He could talk to her in the morning when he was calm. Instead, he dropped his hand and gave her ass a sharp smack. Another smack followed. And then another. Feeling aroused, even justified, he pushed her back down over his dining room table and held her with a firm hand at the waist. As he smacked her hard with the palm of his hand, he felt his anger surge, a feeling as tactile as her pretty pink flesh. He let his hand speak where words seemed to fail him, spanking her until that utterly beautiful moonlit butt turned red as a summer rose. He spanked her until she moaned, until she was writhing against the table, until her discomfort was obvious and the disquieting thrill in him alarmed him so that he had to end it fast. Oddly enough she didn’t cry. She didn’t dare. Only when his emotion was finally spent and his hand hurt like the devil, did he stop. “Get up and get dressed!” he snapped. Then he stepped back. She did, this time moving hastily, while with her expression tear-filled and pleading, she cried, “I’m sorry, I am. I’m sorry, Mike…I really didn’t…” “Can it, Randi.” “Mike, please…” By then his anger had abated. He simply shook his head as she turned away in embarrassment and fumbled with the button on her shorts. Once dressed, she pushed the mess of ash-blonde hair from her face and looked at his stern expression, fearful and puzzled. “What? You think I shouldn’t be f*****g him, right?” Already the sass was returning to her voice. “I really don’t care who you’re screwing, Randi, or even that you are banging the gardener. When I ask you to housesit, I don’t expect you to turn my home into your private brothel. That clear?” “Ouch!” she winced feeling his anger flash against her skin. The tiny hairs stood on end. “I’m sorry. It was a dumb idea, I know. I promise it won’t happen again.” “You’re right, it won’t happen again. You can give me back my key. I’ll find someone else to feed the cat while I’m away.” As if on cue, Muddy, Mike’s pale yellow tabby cat, grazed against her bare leg and meowed. “Really?” She looked so sad. “Yeah, really.” With her face in a pout, she fished through her pocket to find the key, pulling out a tampon, a condom, bits of paper and finally the shiny brass key to Mike Rushton’s back door. She let her hand linger on his as she regretfully handed it back. “You will forgive me, won’t you, please?” She c****d her head. “Forgive, maybe.” By then, he looked more tired than disgruntled. “Geez, I can’t believe you really spanked me like I was a little kid.” She rubbed her bottom, which was throbbing in the most peculiar way. “You trying to tell me you didn’t deserve it?” “No, no…” her face suddenly morphed with a look of horror. “Oh, God, you’re not going to tell my Aunt, are you?” “Should I tell your Aunt?” “No, no please. She’d be so…so… well, I don’t know how she’d react. I’d probably have to listen to one of those awful lectures of her hers.” Her face screwed up miserably while contemplating the possibilities of that gravely nail-biting prospect. “Maybe if you listened to one of her awful lectures, you wouldn’t be screwing around with your life. And maybe, if someone spanked you often enough, you might finally grow up.” He sighed deeply, his face curiously troubled. She took note of it. “What? What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking that I’m really tired right now and I honestly don’t care if you grow up or not.” Her heart sank as she considered his weary face. “I’m sorry, I really am. This was really stupid.” What else could she say? That said, she turned around and left the house, padding quietly to the property next door where her Aunt Emma would be sleeping soundly. Thank goodness her aunt’s bedroom window was on the other side of the house. Mike watched Randi from the window, as she lithely moved through the shadows. Her legs were strong, smooth and sculpted like a dancer’s. She had a narrow waist, the flat tummy of the typical eighteen year old and a chest that was probably not yet fully grown. She was not pubescent any more, womanly but still youthful. Her ripening flesh was difficult to ignore, and those hard n*****s poking through her shirts had caused him to stare far too often than was prudent. The fact that she was slightly off center, ditsy, juvenile and naïve made her much easier to dismiss, and yet… her charm did have a lasting effect. Randi Savoy hadn’t always been so zany and reckless… He remembered her right after her parents died when she first moved in with her Aunt Emma. She was a gawky twelve-year-old with braces, braids and a sunny smile. She would talk to him as he did his yard work, while her aunt, no doubt, watched appreciatively on the sidelines. Emma Savoy would say that Randi needed a man in her life now that her Dad was gone. Mike didn’t like the idea of playing daddy to a twelve-year-old, when he was only twenty-four himself, but he was always friendly in an older brother sort of way. He watched her grow up, the tomboy phase, the make-up phase, the rock and roll years playing her boom box loud enough for the deaf Mrs. Paxon down the street to notice. She went from a kid to a girl to a young woman before his eyes. Suddenly she was sixteen and far too sexy for her own good, capable of attracting boys just by batting her big brown eyes. He stopped her once as she bounced out of the house in ‘f**k-me’ clothes—mini-skirt, tiny tank top and high platform shoes. “Randi,” he said, calling her into the yard. She looked a little flushed to have drawn his attention, but moved directly toward him. “You behave yourself. I mean don’t cause your aunt any grief now. She’s been very good to you.” “Oh, no, never! I won’t,” Randi assured him. “We’re just going to the lake for the day. I’ll be home in bed by nine.” “You’d better be, and I mean that,” he said with his eyes narrowing in on her. She looked a little astounded that he’d say such a thing, but then she bounced away with a smile on her face, and he was sure the threat was all but forgotten. Afterwards, he wondered why he even cared to issue the veiled warning. He felt something from her he didn’t understand and something in himself that almost scared him. Two months later… The music was wild; the crowd, one big sea of flesh, the atmosphere filled with tobacco smoke, a hint of pot and the constant clink of glass. An air of excitement was all around her as she walked into the crowded bar, clutched to Justin’s arm. She was amazed that the borrowed ID even worked, but then she and the twenty-one year old Heather could pass for sisters. She gazed around, seeing no familiar faces but those of Justin’s friends. This was good. Of course, Sam’s bar wasn’t the kind of place where she expected to see a teacher or a neighbor or one of her Aunt’s friends. Justin, full of mischief as usual, said she should try the wet t-shirt contest. She couldn’t wait. Already the feel of something outrageous was getting inside her flesh, making her belly flutter with the most delightful thrill. A beer or two and she was buzzed, hoping her naughty expectations for the night would be fulfilled. She’d dressed the part, knowing in advance what she planned to do. Her jean skirt fit tight and the red halter was low-cut enough that the sides of her breasts drew eyes for long lingering glances. Would she bare a n****e if she moved just right? “Damn! This is turning me on!” she whispered to Justin. She wiggled her ass, while rubbing her body against his. Justin’s hand fell to her behind right at the bottom of her skirt and inched the fabric up enough so his fingers could slide under and grab her bare skin. She’d worn just the tiniest thong. Her head was swimming and her heart pounded in anticipation, when an hour later the announcement was made for the t-shirt girls to move toward the stage. She followed the line of women, nearly ten, she thought, and all of them looked older—a first clue that maybe she was pushing her luck. But a sensuous, easy inebriation seemed to short-circuit her good judgment. Her libido was charged, and with the adrenalin pumped up high throughout the barroom, there was nothing to stop the girl, even if she was underage. Following the other girls, she walked up the ramp, as they listened to a drunken emcee slur his words in announcing the first of the t-shirt dancers to strut her stuff. To claps and catcalls, the buxom blonde, bimbo-ish female in a hot pink skirt and a tiny white tank moved provocatively before her audience, shaking her t**s. Randi stood back mesmerized, thinking of moves, of better moves, of how she’d waggle her titties in front of the leering men and smile. She could already feel the quivering tingle in her tiny thong panties. They were wet enough that her pheromones were wafting toward her nose. She could see herself baring everything, everything! t**s, ass, p***y, shoving her privates toward the grasping men. She could imagine her own rape, and the thought almost made her climax right there, as she watched the first girl leave the stage and a long haired brunette with a petite body move out from the runway and begin to dance. She gulped a shot of whiskey the emcee handed her, his face grinning happily. “You’re doin’ jus fine, honey,” he purred, while for a moment he fondled her behind. Randi sighed happily. As he moved away, something pressed against her upper arm. Then a body moved in close behind her and she smelled a man’s breath, a familiar scent. “You go out on that stage, Randi Savoy, I’ll let Sam know that you’re eighteen.” She froze for a second, then turned going eye-to-eye with Mike Rushton. The hot, wild scent of him confused her, but her only reaction was pure anger now. “You will not!” “I will.” He stared so hard into her eyes that she felt them burn, and her skin burned where he still held her arm and her p***y burned with a raw, pulsing hollow need. She let him lead her down the ramp, to the back corridor and into the night, which was cool, refreshingly cool, but equally as sobering. “What the f**k are you doing, following me?” “I’m old enough to be here, Randi, you’re not!” “Leave me alone!” She drunkenly tried to shake him off but his fingers were clamped to her flesh tight as vice grips. “You’re hurting me,” she cried, wrenching one more time. “Fine. I think you like to be hurt.” He wouldn’t ease up. “Let go!” “You’re going home,” he told her. “No, I’m not going home!” “You are going home, or I call the cops and your aunt,” he came back calmly. She struggled uselessly, jerking and finally kicking, raising enough of a ruckus so a few malingerers in the back alley took notice and crept closer to watch. Mike pushed her into the brick wall beside the bar door and tersely whispered in her ear, “You want me to smack your ass right here, I will. Or you can wait until I get you home.” She looked back at him shocked and quit her fight. “Which will it be?” She licked her lips, suddenly noting the quiet all around them, and the feel of his body as it pressed against hers. Did she give away the spasms grinding in her belly? Could he smell her lust? Did he know how desperately her heart was pounding right now, in spite of her anger? They’d gone about as far as they could go. He wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t give an inch. The next move was hers. “Five seconds, Randi, and I beat your butt right here.” She felt the words inside her toes, on the back of her hands, at the bottom of her belly and especially on the quivering flesh of her ass, as he pressed her against the wall behind her. “No, no, I’ll go home!” she exclaimed and he finally let up. But he didn’t let her go. Like an arresting officer, he led her by the arm from the alley to his truck, which was parked on the street a block away. They rode in silence. Once in his driveway, she tried to bolt from the truck only to have him tug her back. “You run, I wake your aunt.” She turned, her eyes flashing brimstone. “You are a miserable, mean man!” she roared with a sound that screeched into the night far beyond the parked truck. “Hush!” The response was brusque and took her aback. “In the house,” was all the rest he had to say, and she was padding like a faithful lapdog at his side, until they were safely inside his house. Mike wasted no time, despite his misgivings about the whole set-up. This wasn’t his battle, but he’d made it his. His threats had sealed the deal, no turning back now. He moved swiftly, pushing Randi to the kitchen table as he removed his leather belt—seemed like the natural tool for punishment, as if the leather held some strange power and nothing else could punish her as sufficiently. He could have pulled a wooden spoon from the kitchen drawer, or even used his hand, but the belt spoke loudly without doing the damage of wood, or carrying the personal intimacy of his hand against her flesh. Nothing s****l could come from this, despite the way his c**k was beginning to twitch uncontrollably in his jeans. He pushed her down against the kitchen table, just as two months before he pushed her against the dining room table and spanked her when he caught her having s*x with her boyfriend. Despite her vehement protestations in the alley, she was curiously compliant now. Maybe she felt cornered, trapped by the threats. Maybe this was what she wanted. Maybe she was wise enough to know what she needed. Or maybe none of his speculations were true—he could hardly know her mind. The doubled belt was swift, landing a hard blow across the bare flesh of her up-turned behind. Mike stopped to watch the color on her rear cheeks change, as a distinctive inch wide line appeared from the pearly skin. He could sense his lust again, growing agitated in his stomach and affecting his aroused p***s so it was pulsing with a maddening fury. The next smacks came in succession, blow after blow applied adroitly from the top of his target to the bottom, until her entire bottom glowed red and Randi squirmed ever more fiercely with each stinging strike. She grunted beneath her breath, but was obviously trying to be stoic in response to the blistering pain – stoic only until she could stand no more and blurted out: “Good God, Mike! Stop it!” She jerked, her body taking the next blow around her middle and she dropped to the floor where she sat sprawled, staring up at him through her tousled hair. He stared right back. “And what if I wasn’t done?” he asked, evenly. “Oh, you’re done. Finished. This punishment is over.” “That so?” “Yes, that’s so. And you don’t dare tell my Aunt!” “I wouldn’t be making the threats, Randi. You fuckin pissed me off. You run off and do anything you damn well please, you just go ahead and see what I do.” “I’ll tell her you whipped me!” “I punished you and I’ll bet she’d think it was a grand idea after I tell her where you’ve been tonight.” “You’re heartless, Mike Rushton!” she seethed. “Gee, so sorry you think so. If you behaved yourself, I think you’d find that I’m a pretty sweet guy.” Randi stared at the man in wonder. Her anger was fleeing fast, which was not a good thing at all, considering that what replaced the fire was nothing short of desire, a burning rush of heat that brought back all those childish feelings she’d had when she was young and Mike Rushton messed with her hair, or smiled at her jokes, or pulled her from the tree in the backyard when she climbed too high. “So, are you done?” she finally asked simply. “Yeah, I suppose I’m done,” he replied. “That was a damn fool thing you did in Sam’s bar. You think you won’t get caught.” “Guess I did get caught.” “See. Right on the eve of going off to college? You could have screwed up a whole future with that move.” “Aw, c’mon, you’re making way too much of this. You think I’m not going to live a little when I’m up at State?” “You’re going to do what you’re going to do, Randi. I can’t stop you. But if you’re in my territory where you don’t belong, I’ll rip you back again and again. You can count on that.” Something in Mike Rushton’s voice, something in his attitude and in the way he stood over the punished Randi Savoy like a guardian stifled her next snotty remark. She didn’t want to tamper with that something—which was certain to haunt her, maybe even drive her mad as she walked away that night. The feeling would still be there when she packed in the morning for her trip north to State and when she sat in the car beside her aunt while they drove away. Her bottom burned in a way that was not at all unpleasant. In fact, she could feel something powerful rise up in her body when she later thought about the embarrassing moment sprawled on the floor at Mike Rushton’s feet. Did he want something from her as much as she wanted something from him? The facts were clouded, the issue vague and even unapproachable. She wasn’t given to lots of introspection, but when it came to Mike, she’d proven to daydream for hours. That was a long time ago, but in the present, she could feel those daydreams advancing on her again, strong as they were before but changed in their unsettling and vivid s****l images.