Neighbourhood Watch 
by Stephen Albrow

As soon as her husband had left for work, Rachel carried the chair to the window. She drew the curtains, leaving a tiny gap through which to peek, then waited for the entertainment to start across the road. It was now almost a fortnight since the mystery woman had moved in opposite, ever since when a succession of men had been turning up on her doorstep at every hour of the night and day. The neighbourhood had never seen anything like it before – a call girl working right in their midst!

It was almost nine o’clock in the morning, which meant the day’s first client would be arriving soon. Most of them were businessmen. It was a high-class operation, nowhere near as squalid as Rachel had always expected these things to be. She sipped on her coffee, growing excited at the prospect of what was in store and glad for any excuse not to tackle last night’s dirty dishes. I bet she doesn’t have to wash the dishes, thought Rachel, as she pictured the woman over the road – a tall brunette, with hourglass curves, who was permanently clad in thigh-high boots and shiny black leather.

A car came crawling down the street, then parked in the woman’s driveway. Rachel stood up to get a better look, peeking through the tiny crack in the curtains and watching as a middle-aged man walked up to the front door and rang the bell. He gazed back at his car as he waited on the doorstep, desperately trying to appear nonchalant, but Rachel could see the tension in his eyes. All the men who went in the house seemed nervous, but they always emerged contented and calm. The mistress of the house had a way about her – there wasn’t any doubt about that!

After a moment’s wait, the door opened and Rachel glimpsed a swathe of jet-black leather. The tall, elegant woman beckoned her client inside, then she took a quick glance up and down the street, before closing the door behind her. She always glanced up and down the street – she’d even caught Rachel’s eye once or twice – but Rachel could never work out the reason why. At first, she’d thought it was an anxious look, a check to see if anyone had worked out what was going on, but it had grown into a look of defiance, as if the woman was saying, yes, what you are seeing is true, but there ain’t nothing you can do about it!

And yet, as secretary of the local Neighbourhood Watch, there was plenty that Rachel could do about it. Thanks to her prime location, she’d been asked to take note of all the comings and goings, but it wasn’t that which made her sit by the window all day – it was a deep, growing fascination with the beautiful, powerful woman across the street. Rachel had never liked the Neighbourhood Watch, but Mike had forced her to join the group. She’d always seen them as a bunch of snoopers, hypocrites and killjoys, keen to stop anyone from being different or having too much fun. To them, the woman across the road was a nuisance, a danger and a threat to house prices, but Rachel had seen the changing look on the faces of the many men who entered her lair. She’d seen their edginess replaced by intense satisfaction, and she longed to experience the change herself.

It was an hour before the first customer left, emerging with a newfound spring in his step. His visit seemed to have set him up for the day, allowing him to face another boring shift at the bank or office. Rachel thought of all the housework she was meant to be doing, and then of how quickly her husband had hurried off to work that day. He could have set the alarm a little earlier, then they could have made love before he left. The chores might have seemed more approachable then, with the afterglow of orgasm still in her system.

Sex is a positive force , thought Rachel, as a second car pulled up outside. She stood up again, leaving a bigger chink in the curtains this time, almost as if she wanted her mysterious new neighbour to know that she was keeping watch. The client walked up and rang the doorbell. His body was trembling with nervous tension, but the mistress of the house would know how to relieve it. She opened the door and beckoned the man inside, then her piercing eyes flickered up and down the street. Her gaze skipped straight past Rachel’s house, but then something clicked and she looked straight back. Eye contact was made, their gazes  met, but it was all too much for Rachel to take. Ashamed of being caught, she stepped back from the window. Her heart was beating almost twice as fast, but something even stranger was going on.

Rachel had no real awareness of what had made it happen, but her hand had crept inside her knickers. Her middle finger was rubbing against her clitoris, the soft, circular motion causing sticky juices to ooze from her gash. She regained her senses for a second, telling herself what she was doing was wrong, but then something made her reach for her cleavage. Her hands cupped each of her breasts in turn, feeling how swollen her nipples had become.

‘What’s happening to me?’ Rachel mumbled to herself, turning to gaze in the mirror above the fireplace. Her face was flushed, but it was the look in her eye that really gave the game away. It was the same look of awkward edginess that all the men who visited her neighbour had. She did some mental reckoning – she and Mike had not made love for over two months, so the tension inside her clearly needed some release. She thought of taking a bath and masturbating, but that meant going upstairs, and for some strange reason she couldn’t bear the thought of tearing herself away from the window.

‘Pull yourself together,’ Rachel told herself, then she decided it was best to get out of the house. Being cooped up at home for days on end wasn’t good for a person’s well-being, so she fetched her coat and then wandered towards the newsagents on the corner of the street. She browsed through the racks of magazines, occasionally glancing at the clock above the counter, waiting for the right time to head back home. She knew her neighbour’s routine like clockwork by now – when each client arrived and how long they stayed. She could make it look like an accident, just wander by and see what happened.

At five to eleven, she picked up a newspaper, paid the girl behind the counter and stepped into the street. Normally she crossed the road straight away, but for once she stayed on the opposite side – the mystery woman’s side of the street. As she neared the woman’s driveway, she heard goodbyes being said, then a car engine started and the second client drove away. Rachel peered at him through his windscreen, spotting the satisfied smile upon his face. The mystery woman was still on her doorstep. On seeing her, Rachel crossed the street for home.

‘Wait,’ shouted the beautiful dominatrix, her words making Rachel stop dead in her tracks. There was something in the woman’s tone of voice that made it clear she was giving out a definite order. Disobeying her wasn’t an option, so Rachel slowly turned around. The domme crooked her finger, beckoning Rachel towards her, with a magnetic force she couldn’t resist. ‘I don’t like snoopers,’ the leather queen snapped, as the housewife neared her doorstep. Reaching out, she grabbed Rachel’s hand and tugged her, forcefully, over the threshold.

Rachel was struck dumb for a second, surprised by the woman’s obvious strength. She gazed up and down her leather-clad body, instantly understanding why so many men were happy to worship at the feet of such a striking, statuesque woman. Her powerful thighs and voluptuous breasts were truly Amazonian, but it was the thigh-high boots that really did it! The six-inch heels left her towering over Rachel’s body. It was impossible not to look up to her!

‘I…I didn’t m-mean to spy on you,’ Rachel stammered, keen to get in the domme’s good books.

‘I didn’t mean to spy on you, Mistress,’ the domme corrected her, pointing towards a door at the end of the hallway. Rachel knew the doorway led to the cellar, because the house was the same design as hers. Mike used theirs for storing wine, but the Mistress of this house was sure to be different.

‘Down there, bad girl,’ shouted the domme, then she waited to see what Rachel would do. The front door was still open, so she was easily able to leave. Her own house was visible just across the street, but instead she headed for the cellar door. As she opened it and climbed down the stairs, the domme shut the front door, a smile breaking out upon her lips. She was thrilled at the prospect of having a brand new toy to play with, especially one with so much pent-up sexual tension inside her body.

Being attuned to such matters, the beautiful domme had been able to sense Rachel’s tension even from across the street. Whenever she moved to a new area, there was always someone who took an unhealthy interest in her affairs. Often it was under the guise of the Neighbourhood Watch, or some other prurient body, but the prurience always seemed to conceal an inner submissiveness. Following Rachel down into the cellar, she knew her new slave would be like putty in her hands. Rachel had waited her whole life to meet someone like Mistress Becki, someone who could unlock the darkest desires within.

‘Welcome to my dungeon,’ said the tall dominatrix, flicking a switch to turn on the light. All the hours Rachel had spent spying on and thinking about the dominatrix had not prepared her for such a sight. Her imagination was not wild enough to envisage all the whips, the chains, let alone the furniture – a medieval rack and an iron maiden. A nervous tingle ran through her flesh, turning it to goose bumps, as she eyed up the tools of Mistress Becki’s trade. She was out of her depth, but she rather liked the feeling. It was exciting to place herself completely at the mercy of this fascinating creature.

‘Get naked, slave,’ commanded Mistress Becki, fetching a long-handled whip from a corner of the room. She lashed it through the air, producing an ear-splitting crack, which prompted Rachel into action. She was terrified of disobeying the whip-wielding dominatrix, but just as scared of the damage the whip could do to her naked flesh. Trembling inwardly, she removed her skirt and blouse, but the dominatrix wanted more. ‘And your underwear,’ insisted Mistress Becki, hovering over her submissive slave.

‘Do I have to, Mistress?’ Rachel asked, immediately regretting the question.

‘Do exactly as I say, you stupid slut,’ shouted the furious domme, then she lashed the whip through the air again, close enough for Rachel to feel the breeze.

Shocked into life, Rachel slipped out of her bra and knickers, a mix of motions tumbling through her mind. A part of her was wracked with terror, but a bigger part of her was enjoying her intense vulnerability. Her naked body, which hadn’t been pleasured in over two months, was now fully in the hands of this strong and gorgeous bitch-goddess from hell.

‘That’s better,’ said Mistress Becki, slowly circling Rachel’s naked form. She stopped behind her, then stroked her buttocks, gently scratching the housewife’s flesh with her long, manicured fingernails. ‘I’ve seen you watching me,’ she said, applying subtle pressure to Rachel’s back and forcing her to lean across the medieval rack. ‘Do you wonder what I do to make those men all feel so happy?’ she asked. ‘Well, the time for you to wonder has stopped. You’re not spying any more, you bad, bad girl. The time has come for you to experience everything for real.’

Rachel took a deep breath and closed her eyes, afraid but excited about what would happen next. Her buttocks were poking up in the air, defenceless against Mistress Becki’s whip, which lashed through the air and smacked into her flesh. She screamed at the point of impact, the sting of the lash unbearable, although something made her hungry for more. She raised her buttocks even higher, as if enticing the domme to flay her again. She heard it first, the menacing crack of the whip, then once again she felt the sting.

‘You’re a bad, bad girl,’ yelled Mistress Becki, raising her hand to shoulder-height. The tail of the whip coiled around her arm, just like a snake being charmed by its master, then the length of cord straightened out again, as she thrashed it towards Rachel’s bare behind. It struck her on the top of her thighs, bringing with it a ferocious burst of pain that caused an agonised scream to spill from her lips. Unable to cope with the thought of another painful blow, Rachel begged for mercy. But she got no mercy, just another firm lash – the decisive one, which carried her over the threshold into a whole new world of intense fulfilment.

‘Can you feel it now?’ asked Mistress Becki, training the whip upon Rachel’s back.

‘Yes, Mistress,’ she groaned, as the lash sent a wave of endorphins coursing through her veins. Her body’s self-defence mechanism had been triggered into action, causing a wave of euphoria to overwhelm her senses and turning the painful torment into blissful pleasure. The domme raised her whip on high again, then thrashed the hell out of Rachel’s buttocks, but the endorphins were now everywhere inside her, overpowering the painful sting. Suddenly, her body felt strong enough to take whatever was thrown at her. She felt alive in a way she’d never felt before, the outward sting of the lash and the inner tingle of her body fighting back, causing a pain/pleasure mix that blew her mind.

‘I can feel it,’ she yelled, as the tingling reached her pussy, shivers of pleasure making her insides tense up tight. She ran her fingers over her cunt lips and was amazed by just how wet they were, a sticky sheen of juices covering the whole of her erogenous zone. Mistress Becki saw her touching herself, then tossed aside the whip and demanded Rachel turn around. Placing her hands on Rachel’s shoulders, she shoved the housewife to the floor, before hitching her shiny leather skirt above her bare cunt.

‘Mistress always gets pleasured first,’ explained the dominatrix, pressing her cunt into Rachel’s face. Wielding the whip had made her pussy drip with juices, so Rachel obediently stuck out her tongue and started licking the cream from Mistress Becki’s gash. Driving her tongue back and forward, she repeatedly entered the domme’s hot, wet cunt, desperate to make her climax so that she would then be allowed to climax herself. The domme’s hands were on the back of her head, keeping Rachel’s mouth pressed tight to her sex. Her tongue reached deeper, feeling the spasms of pleasure in her Mistress’s cunt, which grew stronger as the domme got closer to a climax.

‘Now lick my clit,’ commanded Mistress Becki, moving her hips so Rachel’s mouth was in the right place. She stroked the housewife’s hair, as Rachel’s tongue lashed out at her clitoris almost as forcefully as she had lashed the woman’s bottom with her whip. Intense pulsations started shooting through her clitoral zone, echoing the pre-orgasmic spasms in her cunt. Knowing she was just seconds away from a heart-stopping climax, she gave Rachel permission to touch herself.

‘Thank you, Mistress,’ Rachel whispered, pressing a hand between her legs. As she stroked her own cunt lips, she gave the domme’s sensitive clit another firm lick, instantly hearing a tell-tale roar burst out of the leather-clad beauty’s lips. Mistress Becki’s body spasmed, making her almost double over, as a violent shudder ran through her cunt. She came all over Rachel’s face, the sudden outpouring of lush, sticky liquid eliciting an instant, copycat response from her submissive slave.

Rachel dug two fingers inside her own cunt, as the first wave of orgasm overtook her body. Her mouth was still locked tight to Mistress Becki’s pussy, muffling her ecstatic yell, but nothing could muffle the throbbing in her pussy, nor the endorphin-happy tingle surging through every inch of her exposed flesh. She gazed up at her Mistress, overwhelmingly happy to have served at her feet and to have brought her to such a magnificent climax. For all its blistering intensity, her own climax seemed to matter less, as though it were no more than a slavish echo of Mistress Becki’s joyous release. Yes, it was Mistress who mattered most of all, but Rachel was happy to bask in the reflection of her glory.

‘Good slave,’ said the domme, patting Rachel’s head, and the acknowledgment of a task well done was enough to revivify her climactic rush. Her pussy contorted around her fingers, spilling juice into the palm of her hand, but it was the sudden change in her facial features that proved to her how much it all meant. She didn’t need a mirror to know that her initial look of edginess had vanished, to be replaced by the patina of intense gratification and relaxation that characterised the faces of the many men whom she’d seen exiting Mistress Becki’s house. Pent-up tension had given way to a sense of calm fulfilment, such as follows an all-over body massage or the ‘making up’ sex that comes straight after a bitter marital argument.

‘Happy?’ Mistress Becki asked, pulling her sex away from Rachel’s lips.

‘Very happy,’ Rachel replied, staring up at her Mistress, a look of adoration in her eyes.

‘So, there’ll be no more spying,’ the domme demanded, issuing a firm but gentle warning. ‘No more peeking from behind the curtains. If you want to see what goes on here, then you just make an appointment like all the rest.’

‘Yes, Mistress, I understand’ said Rachel, already aware that she would be coming back. She would lie to the Neighbourhood Watch committee, insist that nothing untoward was going on at Becki’s house, since the last thing she wanted was for the beautiful domme to be hounded out of the area. A whole new world of sexual possibilities had appeared right on her doorstep and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunities it offered. Rachel had a chance to find herself, just like all those men who turned up nervous, but who left in a state of satisfied bliss. Her rightful place was at Mistress Becki’s feet, where she could do her slavish duties, bringing pleasure to her Mistress and so also to herself.