I’m thinking this may end up being more than just a short story… we will see!
Rose watched out her kitchen window as the innards of a moving van were spilled on the lawn of the house next door. The load had spiked her curiosity mainly due to the large number of odd looking sculptures now littering the grass. She had already been wondering about the new neighbor. Licking the remnants of a Snickers bar off of her fingers, Rose felt a surge of excitement run through her body as she watched a small black BMW convertible pull into the driveway, then the garage. It was the same car she had seen a couple of days prior, as she watched the new occupant, tall dark and female, walking the exterior of the house. It was dark so she couldn’t make out the look of her but she had a slender physique, walked with confidence and what appeared to be very tall heels that made a clack loud enough for Rose to hear clearly. She was not privy to any new information now, being that the top of the convertible was up and the windows of the car, heavily tinted.
The art, now strewn about the lawn, varied from large phallic looking glass pieces to other darker metallic looking ones. One in particular caught Rose’s interest as she recognized it from her vast collection of historical literature. The piece was dark, made of metal of some kind, the result of a cast. It was the upper torso of a man, head back and wearing around his neck what appeared to be a heretic’s fork. The heretic’s fork was a neck trap designed so that the subject wearing it donned a collar with a double sided fork attached, reaching from the chin to the dip between the clavicles. Attempts to speak by the victim wearing the fork would be met with extreme and sudden pain. As a result, the victim would typically throw their head back as much as possible, which was depicted quite remarkably in the sculpture. Originally, the fork was used to get those accused of heresy and witchcraft to confess prior to burning at the stake. Speculation as to how her new neighbor had acquired such a bizarre and unique piece now consumed her.
Both fiction and non-fiction, Rose had a rather consuming obsession regarding the most gruesome of ancient torture devices, dungeons and other terrible techniques to inflict pain. Though she did not necessarily enjoy experiencing pain herself, the subject had always fascinated her, as did the power dynamic that accompanied such acts. However, only in the depths of her mind did she explore this passion. In ‘real’ life, no one would ever guess that Rose had such a demented streak. She worked as ‘nose’, otherwise known as a perfumer, due to her delicate sense of smell. Making it her mission to fly under the radar in pretty much every situation, including her love life, the best choices sometimes escaped her.
Brian was a loser. He was also Rose’s boyfriend. Skinny with pale skin and shaggy unkempt hair, curly and black, Brian spent most of his days playing video games, and not the clever ones. The good thing about Brian, was that his general sedentary state made it easy for Rose to picture him on the other end of a violet wand or the like. He was often the focus of her overactive imagination, though the actual sex was rare and mediocre at best.
Rose was plain. She had always been plain. She was once told that her name was ironic by one of her best friends in high school. Unfortunately for Rose, it was one of the nicer girlfriends of the past. Rose had always felt a sincere draw towards the alpha type females, and her new fascination with the mysterious neighbor was no exception. Glasses and freckles, very little makeup and a flat mess of floppy ash brown hair, Rose could have been on the cover of Commonplace Magazine if there were such a thing, based solely on her appearance of course.
Contemplating whether or not she thought the art on the lawn was an advertisement to the neighborhood, or merely an embarrassing accident to have such intimate pieces be broadcast for all to see, Rose grabbed a piece of licorice from a nearby tub, and shoved her hand down her pants simultaneous to taking her first bite. She had been doing this her whole life, sweets and orgasmic pleasure intertwined. Taking her middle finger underneath her boring white cotton panties and a tuft of wildly grown hair, Rose pushed back and forth, her swollen, throbbing and now saturated pink clit, all the while, thinking of the dark stranger and fork. As she approached explosion, the licorice remained in her mouth but dropped from her hand, and she braced herself on the countertop. Her panties were now soaked through, breaths and quiet moans echoing off the tile, and the walls of her pussy pulsating and squeezing down on a sad nothing to complete the ritual.
Somewhat of a compulsive masturbator, it was unclear if the compulsion would amount to an actual addiction. Can one be addicted to sex if they rarely have sex and didn’t enjoy it? It had always also seemed uncertain the origin of her sugar fixation. Though blessed with a somewhat firm and naturally fit figure, the candy was undoubtedly taking its toll on her health in other ways. As a child, Rose would steal candy from the store to feed her frenzy, coming up with all kinds of clever ways to avoid being caught, a skill which would translate in action to many other facets of her life. Mostly though, Rose kept to herself and confined her demons to her own mind.
The next day, Rose was in her study upstairs. Having inherited the house from her late father, the study was filled with both peculiar books and artifacts from her own fascination with medieval devices and dark ways to inflict pain, and also quite a vast library of psychology books left by her father. However, they weren’t the usual run of the mill psychology books, and stretched everywhere from the classic Freud, Interpretation of Dreams to those covering the most dark of mental manipulation techniques. Rose and her father were similar in their dedication to their obsessions and she even dipped into his books from time to time, when the mood struck her.
From one of the windows from the study the view included her own backyard, the fence separating her yard from that of her new neighbor and a portion of the yard next door as well. There was even a window from the curious dark woman’s house that was in view from a different window in the study, being that it was on the corner of the upstairs. This window, however, had blinds tightly drawn as the previous occupant was male and quite pasty. He had a habit of walking around in a towel that was much too small. She hoped that the new neighbor followed suit in this regard. It was now time to open the blinds.
Drawing them open, Rose was ecstatic to see that the room across the way, a bedroom she believed to be the master, was exposed to her through an open window. As she considered that she may be caught for spying if she remained there, since she was exposed herself, she heard the back door of the dark woman’s house, open and shut. Would she finally get a view of her? Lucky for Rose, her father, in addition to his dark psychology fixation, he was also an avid bird watcher. Frantically searching for her father’s binoculars, she found them in the bottom drawer of his carved oak roll top desk next to a hairpin steel miniature sword letter opener.
Kneeling by the window that faced toward the yard, Rose peeked the binoculars over the sill. It was her, the woman, in an entirely black two piece, retro looking bathing suit. She was setting up a lawn chair and draping it with a towel, iced tea in hand. It was hot and summer in California. Rose had always been envious of the previous occupant, Pasty she called him in her head. Her envy stemmed from the fact that Pasty had a lagoon shaped pool with a waterfall, and never used it, not once, to her knowledge. Now, she was more envious of the bathing suit that wrapped her beautiful neighbor, and the rim of the glass that she touched to her full scarlet sensual lips.
The woman was more stunning than Rose could have ever imagined. Her hair was red copper and extended from her head in the most unruly curls. She had some freckles on her nose as well it seemed, through it was hard to tell through the spy glasses. It was surprising to Rose that she would have anything at all in common with this glamazon. She seemed very tall, even in consideration of the height increase from her tall black heels that she wore outside at the pool like an old style movie star. It was difficult to tell from a far though. Her skin was pale like Rose’s but lightly tan and a perfect cream, reminding Rose of coffee made with the amount of milk a child would use. Her breasts were full and clearly natural, forming little beads of sweat on the cleavage that escaped the top. Rose wanted to lick it off and imagined she’d taste sweet, not salty, like every other normal person on the planet. This person was clearly not a normal person. She was a goddess. To Rose’s dismay, the woman’s eyes were blocked by a pair of oversized maude sunglasses.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pfwcgr/i_just_started_writing_this_one_it_might_be
Intriguing premise, I want to read more!
Really good! Hope you write more in the future!
Great writing, can’t wait for more