Chapter 1

Hearing the sound of a vehicle engine next door, I looked up from the book I had been intent on for the last hour. I saw a silver SUV having trouble backing a rental trailer into the driveway. It had to be someone moving in since the house had been sitting empty for six months, ever since my best friend Trevor and his family lost their home to a foreclosure. His mom lost her job when the big factory in town laid-off nearly half of their workers. With more than five hundred new job seekers in town, prospects of everyone finding a new job were nil.

Trevor’s dad finally arranged for a transfer to one of his company’s offices in another state where the economy, and hopefully prospects of a job for his wife, were better, but they still lost the house. I felt bad for Trevor--both for losing their home, and for having to leave all his friends behind.

I nearly laughed at whoever was driving the SUV. Instead, my own ineptness the one time I tried to back up with a trailer left me sympathizing with the driver. Instead of making a fifth attempt to straighten the trailer out, the SUV finally stopped with the trailer turned at a sharp angle to the vehicle. Once the SUV stopped, my curiosity about our new neighbors was quickly satisfied when three doors opened and three gorgeous females exited. The youngest appeared to be my age--sixteen. The eldest was obviously the mother, and I definitely wouldn’t have kicked her out of bed. The older daughter looked to be eighteen to twenty.

All three had blonde hair; the mother’s hair just reached her shoulders, but the girls wore theirs halfway down their back. I almost fell out of the tree when the mom, wearing a pair of tight shorts, leaned over to unhook the trailer with her ass aimed right at me. What an ass it was.

I hoped she and her daughters utilized the pool in their back yard frequently. The six-foot cinder block wall surrounding the pool made it a very private setting. Since all the houses in the area are single story, someone would have to be on their roof to see down inside the enclosure. Either that, or up in the tree in our back yard where I currently was. The view from the tree included our back yard, the back yard of the neighbors to either side of us, and the driveway of Trevor’s old house.

Eight years ago, Trevor and I built a small, rickety platform in the tree in my back yard. It wasn’t much more than a few boards nailed together on a crude frame, but we loved it. After Dad re-enforced (read: rebuilt entirely) our handiwork, he declared it safe enough for us to use and we spent many hot summer afternoons up there. The breeze blowing through the tree was reasonably cool. We told jokes, played our handheld video games, read, and just talked about whatever struck our fancy. With Trevor gone, I mostly read.

When the mother and her daughters began unloading boxes from the trailer, I had to go offer my help. First, my mother expects me to help our neighbors. To her, anyone living on our street on this block is a neighbor. Second, I’m a closet chauvinist. My mother taught me to hold doors for women, to seat them at the table, and other chauvinistic traits. So far, the girls I’ve dated have appreciated her efforts at training me. Their mothers seem to be impressed, too. Those mothers might be surprised, though, at some of the nasty things “such a nice boy” does with their daughters. I don’t pressure the girls into anything, but if they indicate a willingness, I make sure the girls enjoy the nasty things I do with them as much as I enjoy doing them.

After climbing down from the tree, I put my book in the house and pulled on a shirt. My upper body muscle definition might impress the younger daughter but meeting the new neighbors half-dressed would be tacky. Besides, I knew the younger daughter would have a chance to see me tomorrow when I mowed Mrs. Grimes’ lawn since her house was right across the street.

“Hi, I’m Brian, your neighbor. Want some help?” I asked pleasantly.

“No thanks. We aren’t helpless. We can handle it ourselves,” the mother replied testily.

“He probably hopes to rummage through our underwear when we aren’t looking,” the older daughter sniggered.

“And look at our asses when we have to bend over,” the younger daughter added caustically.

“Fine, knock yourselves out. I’ll tell my mom not to bother you either,” I huffed as I turned and stormed off. “What a bunch of bitches,” I thought to myself. I was proud of myself for holding my tongue and not telling them what I really thought of them.

I ignored them for the rest of the day, telling Mom what they said when she got home; she was shocked. Saturday, I went over and mowed Mrs. Grimes’ lawn for her. She’s an elderly widow, living on Social Security and the money her grandson Bruce sends her. With as much as Bruce sends her, I knew she could afford to pay me, but I told her to enjoy herself with the money her grandson sends.

Even though I hope to be so spry when I’m in my seventies, there was no way she could mow her own lawn. I warned her about the new neighbors, too. I could tell that she was pissed about their treatment of me when she shouted across the street at the mother, telling her that she didn’t mind me looking at her ass since I mowed her lawn free every Saturday. We laughed the rest of the afternoon at the shocked look on the mother bitch’s face.

Sunday I was again at Mrs. Grimes’ house, this time for our nearly weekly “date.” She has a monstrous flat screen television that Bruce bought for her. With the sound system he included and had the electronics store hook up, it almost feels like we were there at the NASCAR track watching Bruce compete. She loves to turn the sound up at the start of the race, making the whole house vibrate with the roar of forty or more powerful race car engines simultaneously accelerating towards the start line. The older bitch daughter hollered at me as I crossed the street. “Didn’t you mow her lawn yesterday? What, are you going to trim her bush today?” she cackled.

“Hey, sexy senior citizens need love, too,” I shot back, stunning her.

Mrs. Grimes was hanging onto the front door frame, laughing hysterically when I got there. “Her mouth is still hanging open,” she gasped, pointing back across the street. Over the next two days, Mrs. Grimes and I both had to explain my shouted remark and the reason for it to several neighbors who heard it. When we did, the entire neighborhood shunned the three bitches, too.

Four hours after the race started, we were screaming at the television as Bruce fended off a last lap charge by the current points leader, winning his second race of the season. Almost halfway through the racing season, he now trailed the points leader by a mere six points in the overall standings and both drivers now had two wins.

“Sounds like your girlfriend’s a screamer,” the older bitch daughter commented derisively, taking another shot at me as I left.

“Yeah, but you should see the smile on her face. It probably won’t go away for a week,” I retorted, otherwise ignoring her as I headed home. I wondered if she’d been waiting there since I went over to Mrs. Grimes’ house. “Must suck to not have a life,” I thought, shaking my head. When Mrs. Grimes came to our house for dinner that night, she and Mom were laughing about my retorts so hard that tears were running down their faces.

I had paying customers for my lawn service, too. When the weather started warming up and the lawns started growing, I mowed two every day after school, and four on Saturday. Even during the winter, I had a few customers who wanted me to over seed their Bermuda grass lawns so they were green year-round. I had to mow those lawns once a week. Mrs. Grimes originally protested about me not charging her to mow her lawn, but finally worked out a deal with my mom. We go to her house twice during the week for dinner. Mom works weekdays and appreciates not having to cook those two nights.

Sunday, Mrs. Grimes comes over for supper or dinner, depending on what time the race is. Surprisingly, there were no comments from the bitches when I escorted Mrs. Grimes over to our house, her arm through mine, for dinner. Nor were there any when I escorted her back to her house after dinner.

During the summer, I start mowing lawns in the morning before it gets hot. I also pick up a few temporary customers who are going on vacation or new customers who just don’t have the time to take care of their lawn. Since Dad died five years ago, we’ve done okay financially. He had a good insurance policy, and the drunk driver that hit and killed him actually had insurance. Mom even sold dad’s photography business for a decent chunk of change. Between the three, and Mom’s full-time job as a paralegal, we aren’t hurting for money.

Aside from the nights that we have dinner with Mrs. Grimes, I usually have a date in the evening. I have three girlfriends that I rotate dates between. Each one gets one date a week. All three girls know about the others. I may be a horndog, but I don’t lie to my girlfriends. Some dates end up in my bedroom, others don’t--lady’s choice. My mom doesn’t exactly approve of my sexual habits but insists that I not subject the girls to the backseat of a car or someplace equally dangerous.

Friday night’s date is hit or miss. Sometimes one of the girls wants me to do nasty things with her a second time during the week and I reserve Friday night for those occasions. Both Mom and Mrs. Grimes know the girls I date. The girls even join us occasionally for dinner. Mom and Mrs. Grimes were surprised the first time they found out that each of the girls knew about the others.

Mom accompanied my three girlfriends and me to watch the fireworks for the Fourth of July this summer. Despite disapproving of my sex life, she seems amused with my collection of girlfriends.

I didn’t hear from the bitches for nearly a week. In fact, the next time I heard from them was laughter coming from their pool. Engrossed in a good book, I hadn’t even heard them come outside. I almost fell out of the tree when I saw the three sunning themselves topless around their pool. The tiny bottom half of a thong each of them wore left them practically nude and I could detect no tan lines. It took no time at all for me to spew a load of cum that arced gracefully through the air all the way to the ground.

I spent the next two days digging out Dad’s old cameras and figuring out how to use them. As a professional photographer, he had top of the line digital equipment six years ago. The guy who bought the business didn’t want to buy dad’s cameras, so Mom kept them. Even though Dad’s equipment was six years old, it was better than the small digital camera Mom bought for me last year, but it was a lot more complex.

Finally, I was ready to see if I could get photos or a video of the girls and hauled the cameras up to the tree house and set everything up. I was disappointed that they didn’t come outside today, the first time this week they hadn’t spent the afternoon around the pool. Just when I was ready to take the camera equipment back inside, wondering if they’d noticed the tree house, I heard their SUV pull into the garage. I double checked the focus of both the still camera and the video camera and waited anxiously. The cameras were set on tripods so they would take sharper pictures, even if I were jerking off--again.

Fifteen long minutes later, I flicked on the video camera when the mother bitch started opening the sliding glass door. Once again, the tiny thong bikini bottom she wore left her looking nude. “Grab the sunscreen, Karen,” she shouted back into the house. I was mesmerized watching her large yet firm breasts swaying seductively as she walked. My cock throbbed again after her daughter tossed her the suntan lotion and I watched the mother bitch rubbing lotion all over her own body, especially her tits. I made sure the video camera was focused on her and whipped out my cock. I geysered cum over the edge of the tree house platform onto the grass below, watching the mother bitch’s hands caress her body as she rubbed the lotion in.

I changed the focus when she walked over to her daughter, figuring her daughter would now be oiling herself. Instead, she jumped and squeaked in surprise when her mom squirted a glob of sunscreen in the middle of her back. “You made the mess, you clean it up,” the daughter commented as she rolled her head to face her mother. Her tone of voice was playful, even seductive. My girlfriends used the same tone when they were letting me know they wanted to have sex. I did a double take when the daughter stuck her tongue out, then flicked it suggestively at her mother.

Chuckling, the mother sat on her daughter’s legs and worked the sunscreen into her back, adding more as she worked her way down. She didn’t hesitate to untie the strings holding the bottom of her daughter’s thong on and continued oiling her taut ass. I nearly fell out of the tree house when she slipped her oil-covered fingers between her daughter’s legs and rubbed.

“Is that where you needed the tanning oil?” she asked suggestively.

“Oh, yeah,” her daughter moaned as she spread her legs more to give her mother better access. I was glad the cameras were on tripods because my hand was madly jerking my cock as I watched the mother finger her daughter. Less than a minute later, the daughter rolled onto her back. As the mother continued fingering her, the daughter was madly squeezing and pulling on her own nipples.

As shocked by what I was seeing, I was so stunned that I momentarily stopped stroking myself when the mother knelt at the foot of the chaise lounge and moved forward until her face was at her daughter’s pussy. “Fuck, yeah, lick me you cunt,” the daughter groaned as she twined her fingers in her mother’s hair and pulled her face tighter. Seeing the mother move her hand towards where she was licking, I wished I could be there to see exactly what she was doing. Maybe I could learn a trick or two.

I came long before the daughter did, once again fertilizing the lawn beneath the tree. I wondered if all the cum I spewed down there recently would affect the grass. I spewed another load after they changed places and I watched the daughter eating her mother out. Long after they went back inside, I took the cameras back to my room, transferring the footage to a thumb drive that I stashed in my secret hiding place and deleting everything from the cards in the cameras.

Dad and I had built a bookcase from the wood of an old waterbed several years ago. It was built to fit snugly inside the right side of my closet where there was an eighteen-inch-deep space. Three years ago, I took it out and chiseled a narrow gap at the back of one of the two sides. The hiding place was just beneath the lowest shelf, about eight inches from the floor. To see it, you had to have a flashlight and your face on the floor. Normally, my shoes filled the space beneath the lowest shelf. The gap was just big enough to hide a thumb drive.

I originally made it to stash the porn I downloaded. Until now, I hadn’t touched the thumb drive for more than a year, preferring to search the internet for new videos. After deleting everything already on the thumb drive, I transferred the video and several still shots to it and replaced it in my hiding place. My mom routinely checked the computer for video files and photos and checked to see what web sites I visited. Since she never questioned me about the sites I visited, I was sure that I’d figured a way around her snooping but wasn’t taking any chances with this video.

The next afternoon I got more good pictures of all three bitches lying in the sun and found myself angry that such beautiful females had to be bitches. All three were gorgeous, but the youngest daughter was my favorite. Not yet as well-endowed as her mother or sister, she still sported an impressive pair of boobs. Her body was curvaceously padded in all the right places, and her face was a wet dream. Unfortunately, with their bitchy attitudes, even if they miraculously offered an afternoon of sex, I’d turn them down. Just because I wouldn’t kick most girls out of my bed doesn’t mean I’d let one like these three in it. I do have some standards, however meager they are. Today, there was no sex between any of them. The mother and older daughter acted as if nothing happened yesterday.

Thursday afternoon their SUV left again while I was in the tree house, so I went back inside to get the cameras. Fortunately, the ladder up to the tree house is on the side of the tree not visible from the pool. Despite there being no action yesterday, I set the cameras up; I wasn’t disappointed.

It took a little longer after the car returned before anyone appeared. I’d been watching the sliding glass door attentively, and switched on the video camera as soon as I saw the older daughter through the glass. I’m surprised that they didn’t hear me gasp when the daughter came out with a leash in her hand. She was leading her mother who was crawling on her hands and knees with the leash attached to a dog collar around her neck. That concrete had to be murder on her knees.

After ordering her to “stay,” the daughter went back inside the house and came out with a small overnight bag. Rummaging through the bag, she ordered her mother to lie on her back on the chaise lounge. These chaise lounges aren’t the flimsy aluminum ones you see for sale all over town every summer. There were solid wooden chaise lounges, meant to last for years. After Tuesday, I knew they would hold two squirming, writhing adults.

I gasped quietly when the daughter began securing the mother’s wrists and ankles to opposite ends of the chaise lounge with Velcro restraints. Once the mother was secured, the daughter extracted a flogger from the overnight bag and started whipping her mother. First, she whipped her stomach. I almost came when she began whipping her breasts. As far away as I was, I could hear the flogger striking flesh and the mother’s quiet gasps and grunts as she tried to stay silent enough that none of the neighbors would hear her cry out. The daughter whipped her slowly for nearly half an hour before she quit, teasingly sucking her mother’s nipples, or fingering her clit between lashes.

I came three times, spewing cum to the lawn below the tree. The mother came four times that I noticed, one of them when the daughter landed several blows in a row on her drooling pussy. I managed to get a couple of super close-up still photos with Dad’s old camera that showed her red pussy, swollen labia, the copious lubrication leaking from it, as well as several red stripes where individual strands of the flogger kissed her skin intimately.

“Shit, we’re going to be late picking Pam up,” the bitch sister grumbled as she released the restraints holding her mother.

“Thank you,” the mother said emotionally to her daughter as she hugged her and kissed her passionately.

“You can thank me Tuesday when it’s my turn,” the daughter growled playfully.

“You go get Pam while I put everything away and shower,” the mother said. The daughter hurried into the house, and their SUV pulled out of the garage a couple of minutes later. While the daughter was getting ready to go, the mother was busy masturbating, her strangled gasp when she came was only slightly quieter than those her daughter elicited with the flogger.

Once she came, she stretched languorously, working out the residual stiffness from being secured for so long. Then she stood, unsteadily at first, and gathered up the toys her daughter left. Those went into the overnight case and the mother disappeared back into the house.

Despite the fact that they were bitches, and despite the inappropriateness of their behavior, I was touched that mother and daughter were so close. I wondered if their bitchiness was to keep people at arm’s length so they didn’t get close enough to learn their secret.

I was back out there Tuesday afternoon when the SUV pulled into the garage again. I watched expectantly as the two bitches came out to the pool. This time, the daughter was secured to the chaise lounge. The mother used the same light blue flogger on her front. After securing a gag in her daughter’s mouth, she switched to a crop, and then used clothespins on her daughter’s nipples and the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her muffled screams were still slightly audible in the tree when her mother used the crop to knock each clothespin off. I realized that her muffled screams were probably not audible beyond their yard since sound travels upwards. The cinder block wall around the pool would muffle any quiet sound below six feet. Besides that, the wooden privacy fence was another ten feet beyond the wall, and our house was the only one the pool faced.

I again fertilized the lawn with three loads of cum, although the daughter had at least twice as many orgasm’s as I did. This time, the daughter stayed behind to clean up while the mother went to pick up the younger daughter.

It was interesting on Wednesday when all three again sunned themselves. The older daughter showed no sign of the treatment she received the previous day. Her skin wasn’t bruised, or even pink. They obviously did this before and knew what they were doing.

After recording them each being flogged one more time, I decided I had enough fantasy material for this next winter and left the cameras in my room. I did make sure the camera’s memory and the video cards in both cameras were empty after each time I used them.

I still watched whichever show was playing live at their pool each afternoon. Most days it was sunbathing nearly nude. Tuesday and Thursday, it was the light BDSM.

When I finished mowing and edging Mrs. Grimes’ lawn Saturday, I saw the younger bitch, sitting on the low cinderblock wall separating our property and theirs. It’s about two feet high at the front of the property, stair-stepping one block at a time until it reaches six feet high where the back yard starts. The daughter was straddling the wall, being obvious that she was watching me work. She was wearing short shorts and a halter-top that showed off her figure. “She’s been sitting there for an hour watching you,” Mrs. Grimes told me.

“I know, she probably has some rude remark she can’t wait to make,” I answered with venom in my voice.

“I don’t think so. I’ve been watching her, and she looks lonely,” Mrs. Grimes observed.

“I wonder why,” I answered sarcastically.

“Do me a favor and play nice unless she shows her true colors,” Mrs. Grimes asked. I agreed, finished gathering my tools, and headed across the street for the confrontation I expected.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hello,” I answered noncommittally, waiting for her snide remark.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Sure,” I replied neutrally.

“I see everyone our age laughing, talking, and playing together. Yet, none of them will even say hi to me when I try to start a conversation. Why won’t they talk to me?” she asked. I could hear real emotion in her voice and decided either she deserved an award for her acting, or she was totally clueless.

“You are kidding, right?” I asked. The tears in her eyes told me she wasn’t.

“You really don’t know, do you?” I asked as I moved closer. I was still wary, but the tears made my Damsel-in-Distress mode kick in. When she shook her head, she shook the first tear loose.

“First, you have to understand that these people have all lived here for five or more years. Everyone knows everyone else. They especially know me. I help Mrs. Grimes across the street every week by mowing her lawn for free. I’ve helped nearly every other family on the block at some point in the last few years. I’ve earned their respect, and I treat them with respect.