My Closeted Neighbors Disciplined & Converted Me

My parents always warned me not to throw stones from glass houses. I should have listened. A few weeks after my eighteenth birthday, they left for a two-week trip and left me alone in the house for the first time. I was the model teen—straight A’s, good manners, and just responsible enough to march next door with a package that had landed at our doorstep by mistake. I rang Mrs. Connor’s bell without a second thought. She opened the door in nothing but a silk robe, and before I could hand over the box, her lips were on mine and her tongue was pushing past them. Her mouth tasted like cigarettes and something sweeter. Behind her, Mrs. Williams stood barefoot on the marble, wearing only an open blouse that framed heavy, bare breasts. They didn’t ask if I wanted to come inside; they simply pulled me in and closed the door. Mrs. Connor’s fingers worked the buttons on my blouse while Mrs. Williams pressed against my back, her nipples brushing my shoulder blades. My skirt came off next. One moment I was standing in their foyer; the next I was on their leather couch, legs spread, Mrs. Connor’s tongue sliding between my folds while Mrs. Williams fed one of her large breasts into my mouth. I had never tasted another woman before, never felt fingers push inside me, never moaned the way I did when Mrs. Connor curled two of them against that spot that made my hips buck. They took turns—Mrs. Williams riding my face while Mrs. Connor licked me from behind, their blonde and dark hair mingling whenever they kissed over my trembling body. By the time they were done, my thighs were sticky, my voice hoarse, and any trace of the girl who had rung the doorbell was gone.