Unleashed: Neighbour Needs Help
Copyright© 2026 by TMax
Chapter 4: Helping My Neighbor Help Me
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 4: Helping My Neighbor Help Me - 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
As I lifted her heavy right breast to get it in the cup, she groaned, which caused my stomach to flutter.
“Sorry, Dear, no one has touched them in a long time,” she said and stared at me. Our eyes met as my fingers lingered, and something passed between us, a feeling, not exactly lust, but respect, and maybe a longing, on both of our parts, but also an understanding that nothing could ever happen between us. Nothing would ever happen. I liked men, she liked men, and we had a massive age gap, too big to cross.
“I’ll try,” I said, then realized how that might sound, so quickly added, “I’ll try not to hurt you anymore, no more.”
She smiled, and the moment passed. She didn’t groan as I lifted her left breast into the cup, nor when I slid the straps up her arms, nor when I fastened the back. My insides groaned, my stomach contained butterflies like when Randy first kissed me. I had to rush away to get the rest of her clothes.
The black long skirt easily fastened around her waist, but my face felt the heat of her chest as I leaned across her to fasten the clasp. The button-up ocean blue dress shirt went on quick, but my hands trembled as I did up the buttons along her front. Mrs. Reynolds smiled and giggled whenever I touched her stomach and upper chest.
“Congrats, you didn’t hurt me,” she said as I helped her stand on her cast and moved her to the wheelchair beside the bed. I beamed with pride as I wheeled her out into the hallway and to my father, as he waited and chatted with a pretty nurse.
“Ok, let’s get this circus on the road,” Dad said and waved goodbye to the nurse, who flushed and gave him a finger flutter.
We managed to get home and inside without me hurting Mrs. Reynolds. Dad helped by holding doors and clearing away my shoes from our path.
“I’ll bring over lunch,” Dad said, but Mrs. Reynolds stopped him before he could close the door.
“No, I may only have one working hand, but I’ll be damned if I can’t feed myself,” she said. Mrs. Reynolds leaned against the counter on her one good arm, her weight on her cast, while her other foot rested on the floor. Somehow, after two trips to the hospital, she still looked strong, a woman that you don’t mess with. As the leader says, ‘The strength of our country rests on the shoulders of our women,’ which I always believed, but now understand.
We worked together in the kitchen. I cut onions and cried, while Mrs. Reynolds insisted on cutting potatoes with her left hand.
She noticed my tears from the onions and reached for a paper towel with her right hand, the one in the sling, the one she shouldn’t use. She screamed, stepped backwards onto her sore foot, which caused her to slip and fall. This time, she didn’t try to brace herself, but she forgot about the knife in her left hand. The large triangle blade caught on the edge of the counter, flipped around, and cut between her index and middle finger, so sharp that it cut deep. So, for the third time in three days, I called the ambulance.
I managed to bandage and stop the blood that covered and ruined the food. While a deep cut, and not typically life-threatening, Mrs. Reynolds couldn’t have that much blood left, and I have heard of people who have died from too much shock. Which caused my heart to hammer hard in my chest?
The tears, real tears, not onion tears, rolled down my cheek, and Mrs. Reynolds, with four damaged limbs, wrapped her left arm around me and held me while I buried my face in her neck. “Shhhh, it’s ok, I’ll be ok,” she murmured, like a mother, but would she? Be ok?
“You could have died. You could die. And it’s my fault, it’s all my fault,” I said as I struggled to breathe.
“Three, always in threes,” she said. She stroked my back with her wrist and blew in my ear. The shivers helped calm my fears, and the tears stopped.
“Are you trying to kill your mother?” the attendant asked as he entered the house, the same one from yesterday, and the day before.
“No, I’m so sorry, I don’t, I didn’t,” I said and moved out of the way so they could look at her hand.
“I’m joking, but you need to look after her better,” he said as he unwrapped my attempt at first aid to examine the cut. Blood rolled down her forearm, and the attendant tisked, but said, “Good job on the wrap, you likely saved her life.”
“Really?” I said and stepped closer to see.