Unleashed: Neighbour Needs Help
Copyright© 2026 by TMax
Chapter 11: Neighbor Means Safe
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 11: Neighbor Means Safe - Part of the Unleashed Series. Zer causes her older neighbor to have an accident, so with guilt in her heart, she vows to help her neighbor. In the process, her neighbor helps her learn new things and grow from a naive, innocent little girl into a confident young woman. Slow serial. Thirty-Six Chapters. Some chapters contain incest scenes with father, mother, and sister, Polly. Of note: this story has hardcore sex scenes, but also character development.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Fa/ft Consensual Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Incest Mother Sister Father Light Bond Group Sex Orgy First Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Big Breasts Teacher/Student Slow
Dad and Mom screamed at each other at dinner, and Polly went out with her friends, but because I didn’t have friends I went over to Mrs. Reynolds’ place where we sat on opposite ends of the sofa and had a movie on, which we didn’t watch. Instead, I talked about Mom and Dad and how I thought they would get divorced soon. Mrs. Reynolds disagreed because all couples fight, due to stress, money, children, or even for the makeup sex later, which made no sense.
“But Mom’s never home and Dad’s always lonely, and I saw, I saw on your computer, when he had sex with you, and Mom was there, with a different guy, and I don’t think they even have sex anymore, at least I don’t hear them anymore,” I said, as images of Dad’s dick splashed across my mind, big, erect, red head, hairy.
“Dear, parenting’s hard,” Mrs. Reynolds said and offered her arms for a hug.
I shifted on the couch till my head rested on her shoulders, with her bandaged hand on my back. She smelled like the jasmine soap that I used, but also of sweat, and ammonia, due to all the meat she eats, and onions, which I loved, and reminded me of dinners at Grandma’s, where we had perogies and Cubasa sausage.
“Can’t be that hard. Billions of people do it.” I inhaled her scent, each time a little deeper, and each time I noticed more of the comfort food and less of the soap and sweat. But while an image of my grandma, in her apron, tongs in her right hand, a white porcelain bowl of perogies covered in fried onions and Cubasa in her left hand came to mind, I also thought about Mrs. Reynolds, and her dildo, and her massive, soft breasts, which led my mind back to Dad and what his dick must feel like.
“Just is,” she said, soft, with a pause in her breath, which made me shift to gaze up at her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. They reflected the blue characters on the TV, like miniature worlds, each tear represented a memory of her family, of the hardship and love that Mrs. Reynolds used to have.
“Mrs. Reynolds, what’s wrong? You ok? Did I say something wrong?” I asked as I sat up and put my hands on her shoulders. Our knees touched as I stared at her. Her eyes sparkled with the moisture, her face flushed red, lips full, and I almost kissed her.
“I miss them, so much,” she said and closed her eyes to slow the tears. Thank goodness I didn’t kiss her. On the spur of the moment, I wrapped my arms around her and leaned over to hug her, her cheek against my right shoulder. My legs shifted to either side of her, almost like I straddled her.
“Who?” I asked, then mentally hit myself, so stupid, her family, of course, who else?
“The twins and the love of my life, my support,” she said, in a slow, quiet voice. I kissed her forehead, like Mom used to kiss mine, but I lingered longer, and I didn’t feel like a mother. She tasted of sweat and soap, which I didn’t mind, in fact, I loved.
We switched positions, and I held her, her head on my chest, and my arms around her shoulders. My hand rubbed her cold arm, which had small bumps. Soft skin, like impossibly soft, a bit loose, like a well-worn shirt, a favorite shirt.
“I wish I could join them,” she said, soft, as if at confession. Her words made my world wobble. Did she want to die? To commit suicide? My heart constricted and I held my breath. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want her to think that I wanted her to do it. And it hurt to even approach the subject in my mind.
“To see them again,” she said. The moment stretched and slowed. The dust motes sparkled in the sunlight, as the trees swayed in the breeze, but so slow, like when they show action shots in movies. My hand moved as if in thick water, a non-Newtonian fluid, where the harder I tried to move against it, the harder I needed to push, until I relaxed and let it land on her knee. Warm, that caused shivers to travel up my arm and into my heart.
“I think about it all the time,” she said. What could I say? I racked my brain to say something, but I could only think about her death. The fear caused my heart to ache, and pain to well up inside my head.
Suicide, but not really, because she couldn’t mean that. I didn’t want to talk about it. It would make it real, and I didn’t want her to die, and didn’t want her to get the idea, in case she didn’t mean that. My hand rested on her knee. Her eyes stared at a framed picture of a child’s painting of their family. Wrong colors for skin, a simple house with a door and a window, a yellow sun with white and black birds in the air. The dad, blue crayon, stood as tall as the green tree.
“Are you hungry, or thirsty?” I asked. Gentle. I didn’t want her to break, to commit what she implied, or didn’t imply, but I may have just read into her statements. Maybe she meant that she wanted them back. I would want that. It made sense, right? I knew it didn’t, but I held onto that idea because I couldn’t understand the other, too monstrous, too big, too expansive.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.