My Closeted Neighbors Disciplined & Converted Me

My parents always said don’t throw stones from glass houses. I didn’t understand how fast the glass would fly. A few weeks after my eighteenth birthday they went away for two weeks and left me alone in the big house. Perfect grades, perfect manners. The perfect girl. Until Mrs. Connor’s package landed on our doormat and I decided to play the responsible neighbor. As soon as Mrs. Connor opened the door I glimpsed something silk-black on the hallway table behind her. It moved. It was Mrs. Williams, naked, collar round her throat, on her hands and knees. A leash. Mrs. Connor looked me in the eye, smiled, and handed me a card: “Come back tomorrow night, same time, or don’t bother coming back at all.” That night I lay awake, breathing hard, thighs pressed together, imagining what those two would ask for and what I might let them take. I remembered their lips parting when they saw me on the step, the curve of Mrs. Williams’ spine arched for inspection. The next evening I walked to their door, trembling, underwear already damp, determined to knock and stupid enough to believe I was still in charge. Mrs. Connor opened the door. Mrs. Williams sat on the floor, wrists bound behind her. The leash snaked through Mrs. Connor’s fist. “On your knees, girl,” she said, and my feet obeyed before my brain caught up. I knelt on the cold tile, skirt bunched high, heels digging into my calves. Mrs. Connor stood over me, thighs parted, the heat of her slick sex so close the musk reached me. “Open.” My tongue slid inside her. She tasted clean, sharp, and a little metallic. I licked deeper, nose pressing her clit. Behind me Mrs. Williams crawled forward, teeth catching the elastic of my panties and tugging them down. Cool air kissed bare skin. She dragged her tongue up the back of my thigh until she found the wet seam between my cheeks. Soft, wet sounds echoed against tile and the drone of the air-conditioner. Mrs. Connor grabbed my hair, rode my mouth in slow circles. I gagged once, drool sliding down her thigh, and she laughed low and sweet. Mrs. Williams slipped two fingers inside me, curled them, then added her tongue to the stretch. I pushed back, greedy. When Mrs. Connor pulled my face up I was glossy from chin to neck. “That mouth’s too polite,” she told me. “Stick out your tongue.” She spat into it, watched me swallow, nodded. A moment later I was on my back, Mrs. Connor straddling my chest, cunt heavy over my lips again. Mrs. Williams straddled my thigh and rode it, slick and greedy. Each grind of her hips let me feel the thud of her clit against my skin. Mrs. Connor reached back, fingers plucking at my nipples, twisting until the sting shot straight to my cunt. I sobbed and came with my tongue buried in her. My legs shook so hard Mrs. Williams had to grip my hips to stay on. As the aftershocks tapered she flipped me onto all fours. Mrs. Connor slid a thick strap-on between my folds, fed it inch by inch until my walls fluttered. When she bottomed out she held still, hips locked to mine. Mrs. Williams moved in front of me, spread herself, pulled my mouth to her soaked cunt. I licked. I sucked. Mrs. Connor began to thrust—deep, smooth strokes that left me gasping around Mrs. Williams’ clit. The smack of skin on skin echoed between me. Mrs. Williams came first, thighs clamping around my ears, thighs quivering. Mrs. Connor grunted, nails scoring my hips, drove the strap into me until I broke again, spasming around thick silicone. She pulled out, left me empty and shaking. Mrs. Williams rolled me onto my back and kissed me messy, swapping the taste of her orgasm on my tongue. Mrs. Connor set a small mirror between my open legs so I could watch my own swollen pussy clench at nothing. “That innocent little girl just got herself fucked in front of a mirror,” Mrs. Connor murmured, smoothing my sweat-slick hair off my forehead. “Welcome home.”