It was a sweltering summer day, and I was eagerly anticipating the cool relief of nightfall. I threw open the curtains, unlatched my window wide open, and leaned out. My spacious room, complete with a bed, a desk, three cabinets, and plenty of open space in the center, had recently become my private playground. I’d started using it as a venue for performing dares and exploring activities like deepthroat and anal play. It felt safer than seeking out strangers, even though the idea always carried its own thrill, especially after the online disappointments I’d experienced. Perhaps my particular kinks made it harder to find willing partners, but that was exactly what I craved. When I first began my solo sessions, I worried that the neighbors might overhear, not just because of embarrassment, but also because my direct neighbor was a friendly mother of three. I suspected her little son might have a room next to mine, so I was relieved to see only the faint glow of a TV light emanating from the room across the wall. That confirmed that it was her oldest daughter, Cassy, the one her mother mentioned as a night owl. I recognized that kind of lifestyle from my post-college days.
By some twist of fate, Cassy also opened her window and leaned out, and our eyes met. Judging by her expression, it was clear she was thinking and feeling just as I was.
With a warm smile, she greeted me, “Hello neighbor. Hot day, wasn’t it?”
I returned her friendliness by saying, “Yes, indeed. What are you watching?”
She stared directly into my eyes and, after a brief pause, replied simply, “Porn.”
I was a little taken aback, not because of the content (I knew that was normal these days, even among girls and women) but by her candid bluntness. Unintentionally, I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
She grinned at my reaction and said, “Don’t tell me you don’t watch any. I’ve occasionally heard you when you’ve had your volume turned up high while pleasuring yourself.”
That remark hit me, and yet she brushed it off with a live-and-let-live smile. I couldn’t help but think of the saying 'Your kink may be different, but it’s okay'.
Smiling in return, I admitted, “Caught me. Sorry, I wasn’t aware.”
She then reassured me, “No problem. I actually enjoy knowing I’m not that different.”
We both smiled, and then she continued, “I mostly watch lesbian clips and some intense straight porn, things like deepthroat, rape scenes, A2M, and a bit of degradation. How about you?”
I hesitated. Should I really reveal so much? After all, she was my neighbor’s daughter. But she’d already been open with me, and it felt fair to trust her.
I answered generally, “I’m into kinky stuff, lots of fetishes. I’m still exploring.”
Without missing a beat, she pushed further, “So, are you more of a top or a bottom?”
I blinked a few times, unsure how much she already knew.
She pressed on, “Or do you switch? Sorry if I’m assuming too much, I’m not an expert, but if you’re just getting started…”
I felt like a man from the Stone Age; the internet had really expanded everyone’s knowledge these days. Still, I felt almost lucky despite being much older than her. She exuded a confidence that made me feel like a timid schoolboy by comparison.
Gathering myself, I finally managed to say, “…I’m more on the receiving end. Watching porn featuring girls getting deepthroated arouses me, yet it also feels unfair how they’re treated. I somehow feel I ought to take their position, out of some sense of equality. It might sound strange, doesn’t it?”
With a relaxed shrug, she replied, “We’re all weird. That’s perfectly normal.”
We both smiled again. I’d always been self-conscious about others’ opinions, so her open, accepting nature was a welcome relief. Still, I couldn’t shake a nagging worry.
I asked, “Do you think we should talk about this? I mean, there’s quite an age gap, and you’re my neighbor’s daughter.”
Her answer was immediate and a little indignant: “Pfft. I’m a grown-up, so treat me like one. Besides, I’m not just your neighbor’s daughter, I’m your neighbor too, since we share a wall. I make my own decisions. But if you’re that worried, let’s agree on this: You don’t touch me, and I won’t get naked in front of you. Fair enough?”
I nodded, and she continued, “Wanna watch porn together? You can come over and check out my collection.”
Though it took some nerve, the clarity of our agreement gave me the courage to accept her invitation. I was admittedly shocked and even a bit scared when she whispered for silence because her mother was likely asleep. Nevertheless, we settled on her bed and watched some of her porn, intensely arousing material, and spent time discussing every detail: what excited us and what didn’t, whether it was her, me, or both of us. The conversation flowed naturally as she scrolled through files to get my thoughts on various styles. Naturally, my trousers betrayed me with a prominent bulge. After a few curious glances, she playfully asked to take a look. Once I reassured myself of our earlier agreement, I allowed it. She handled it coolly, commenting on the different pieces she had encountered. Later, when I was alone in my room, I masturbated sleepily without any further kink, the entire encounter had left me feeling accepted and in tune with the world. Life, for a moment, felt very good.
The following night, right around the same time, I heard a knock on my window.
When I opened it, Cassy greeted me again: “Good night, neighbor. Do you have any toys?”
I simply nodded, and she continued, “Can I come over and take a look at them? I showed you my porn collection, so it’d be only fair to return the favor, don’t you think?”
My doubts resurfaced, and with a hesitant, half-whispered “Alright,” I let her in shortly thereafter.
Her hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and she wore a casual shirt paired with comfortable, loose shorts. Fortunately, I had managed to keep my room neat despite my laziness, so I opened the cabinet containing my toys for her inspection. One by one, she examined my collection.
One of the first items she paused on was my ball gag.
Holding it delicately, she smiled and said, “I wonder how that would look on you.”
Remembering our arrangement, she wouldn’t touch me, and I wouldn’t see her naked, I took the hint and put the gag in.
After a brief pause as she shifted her focus, she remarked with a chuckle, “Cute.”
Then, with a more serious tone, she said, “We need to agree on a safe word. In case you ever feel uncomfortable, you can say it, I won’t accept a ‘no’ from you from now on. Let’s use ‘Mayday,’ or alternatively ‘S.O.S.’ We’ll also use a signal like three taps with one foot if speaking becomes impossible. Understood?”
I nodded. Things had escalated quickly, yet I felt perfectly fine. She moved so close that I could feel her breath, though she still refrained from touching me. Despite the cooling night air between us, my arousal continued to build.
After briefly returning to the toy cabinet, she turned her back and ordered, “Take your shirt off.”
I obeyed without hesitation, even though we hadn’t arranged for a power dynamic of that nature.
“Oh, what’s this,” she exclaimed upon noticing my fleshlight, a large, black, tube-like device resembling a flashlight.
I walked beside her, opened its top, removed the internal component that kept it spread, and then turned its motors off and on again to demonstrate its effect. It seemed she understood what I was trying to do when she noticed the growing bulge in my pants.
“Take your pants off too. Both of them. It looks like you want to show me something.”
I hesitated for a moment, she wouldn’t touch me, but eventually I complied. She set the fleshlight aside and resumed her tour of my toys. Next, she picked up my leather cuffs with a broad smile, silently wrapping them around my back and securing my hands behind me. Then she returned to the fleshlight and led me to where my desk was situated.
Sitting down, she looked up and said, “You don’t mind if we watch some porn on your computer tonight, do you?”
Without waiting for an answer, she began searching through my folders and selecting a video. Then, in a surprising move, she spat into the fleshlight and slid it onto my already stiff erection, moving it rhythmically while closely watching my body and facial expressions. I couldn’t help but moan into my gag. It seemed she deliberately held back from helping me climax too quickly, pausing mid-pleasure to check my emails and browser. I was still logged into my getDare account, and I could see her reading through my messages, both received and sent, and revisiting the dares I had given and performed. She even accessed my blog where I listed my preferences, limits, and PM dare list. Then, as I watched, her right hand slipped into her shorts while her left continued manipulating the fleshlight. All the while, porn videos played in the background.
I stood there naked beside her as she sat at my desk, reading every message and record of my past escapades, not just the sexual ones, but every fantasy I’d ever typed. Every now and then, she used the fleshlight to edge me closer to climax; still, she maintained a patient control. I shifted forward into the sensation it provided, unable to move independently due to being gagged and cuffed. I understood that she preferred to be in control, and that realization thrilled me. After a couple of hours of this careful play, she finally brought us both to climax while locking eyes with me.
Then she released me and softly said, “Good night, baby. Expect me tomorrow night between 10 and 12.”
That night, I slept as soundly as a child, happy and tender in a way I’d never experienced before. The following morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and enthusiastic. Even with another workday ahead, I felt energized by the possibility of another encounter that night. I took a warm shower, finishing with a splash of cold water to fully awaken my senses. I savored my breakfast, grateful for having risen early enough, and surprisingly, work went more smoothly than usual. Even though my manager remained as difficult as ever, I took every criticism with a smile, always asking how I could be of help. The insults bounced off me as I maintained my calm composure. On my way home, I even bought some fruits and vegetables, a rarity these past months, inspired to cook for myself. Despite initial hesitation, once I began, it felt wonderful to prepare and enjoy a meal without the distractions of videos or music that usually accompanied my junk food binges. As the day wound down, I cleaned my apartment, took another refreshing shower, applied my favorite deodorant, and changed into casual, neat clothes. I settled at my computer reading some articles, anticipating her arrival.
At 10 pm, I waited expectantly by the window, nervous yet eager for her to come over, just as she had the night before. I wondered if she might repeat yesterday’s scenario, though something new might be in store. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought: anything she desired was possible for me, within my limits, of course. I turned the volume down so as not to miss even the slightest knock. At 10:30, there was still no sound. I briefly doubted whether I’d missed something, a stray bark of a dog had startled me just moments before, but I figured she was taking her time, deliberately prolonging the wait. Still, the idea nagged at me. After all, she could easily flirt with any boy her age or any man who caught her eye. With just one photo, a slew of admirers would be lining up. And here I was, a simple, average guy, older, not rich, neither strikingly intelligent nor athletically built. I felt incredibly fortunate about yesterday’s chance meeting, yet now I wondered if she would ever come by again. At 11 pm, there was still no sign of her. I considered knocking on her window, but she’d made it crystal clear that the choice was hers, she would knock if she cared to come, or not at all. So, I waited, hoping. By 11:15, I still clung to the possibility. What would I do when she arrived, if she did? What could I offer her in return? I felt pitiful, a middle-aged man longing for a beautiful, confident young woman who seemed to have the world at her feet, while I couldn’t secure a connection with anyone else. Yet I still held onto hope. At 11:30, she still hadn’t appeared. What was I expecting? She had her fun with me, and maybe that was enough. I felt used, foolish, diminished in an instant.
How could I have ever believed I meant anything to her? And yet, I chastised myself for thinking so. After all, she had enjoyed our encounter; perhaps there would be another. It wasn’t out of the question, as long as she wanted to come back, though she never promised a regular visit. She had only left it open-ended, saying she might return between 10 and 12, on nights of her choosing. And how could I know? Had I done something wrong? Should I have given her something, a present, maybe? But I had no means to do so without arousing suspicion, and I didn’t even have her phone number or any other contact information except for our fleeting window conversations. After all, she was my neighbor’s daughter. What would her mother say if she ever found out? I felt like nothing more than a pathetic old man, a pervert, in her likely estimation.
At the stroke of midnight, my heart skipped a beat. Was that a knock? I opened the door, only to be met by darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted, but there was no one. I flipped on the hallway light; still, no one appeared. I stood alone before the closed door of my neighbor’s apartment, enveloped by the cold silence of the building. Was she even home? Possibly asleep? At 12:30, I waited, growing tired, saddened, and disappointed, yet not entirely surprised. Finally, at 1 am, I stepped outside to check her window, only to see darkness, no sign of activity. Resigned, I went back inside and started a short porn clip, one of my favorites, merely to acknowledge that I wasn’t in the mood anymore. Although I usually masturbated daily, that night, nothing came. I went to bed, but sleep eluded me; I tossed and turned until the next morning, when I awoke tired and running late, just like the old, sorrowful routine of my life: dreary mornings, challenging workdays, and solitary evenings steeped in self-pity.
When I arrived home later that day and checked my mail, I found a letter there, no stamp, no name, no return address. I opened it and read:
“Hello neighbor,
I’ve been thinking about our encounter, and frankly, you have to admit it wasn’t a fair exchange. While I am young, smart, attractive, you are nothing more than a pathetic, sore loser. You couldn’t even manage to get laid by an older, obese woman—or even a guy. So why should I waste my precious time with you?
The solution is simple, though not for you to decide. I believe you sensed this subconsciously when you hesitated and made me set those trivial rules. Expect more of them in the future.
For now, it is unacceptable for me to ring your bell or knock on your door. Therefore, you will leave a key to your apartment in my family’s mailbox as soon as possible. Don’t worry about my mother—I’m always the one who picks up the mail, and even if that isn’t the case, I have an easy explanation for the key.
You must also keep your apartment spotless, and by 10 pm you will be on the floor—naked, face and belly down like the scum you are—waiting obediently for me. If I haven’t arrived by midnight, you will go to bed.
Furthermore, while I remain free to date or make out with anyone I choose, aside from work and other responsibilities, you are not allowed to meet anyone else.
Should you break any of these rules, I will expose your perverted nature to whomever I please and ruin your miserable life in ways you can’t even imagine. And worst of all, I will remove my shining presence from your pathetic existence.
Until I decide to see you again,
Your new mistress”
