The Neighborhood
Copyright© 2026 by LezDom
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A Black woman Marisha moves into a white neighborhood, she has two daughters Sophia and Tamara. The two teen girls are avowed lesbians, just like their dominant mother. Their father was never an issue, other than to be a sperm donor. Marisha has a penchant for white housewives and their daughters. Her business is to supply sexy white ladies to her black lesbian clients, and business is very good!
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa ft/ft Fa/ft Blackmail Coercion Drunk/Drugged Hypnosis NonConsensual Reluctant Lesbian Slut Wife Mother Sister Daughter Niece Aunt Grand Parent DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Interracial Black Female White Female Anal Sex Analingus Double Penetration Fisting Lactation Oral Sex Pegging Babysitter Teacher/Student AI Generated
The moving van pulled away just as the sprinklers kicked on next door, drenching the sidewalk in a rhythmic spray. Marisha watched through the living room window as her neighbor a blonde woman in yoga pants hurried to adjust the nozzle, her tan legs glistening under the afternoon sun.
The blonde woman’s fingers fumbled with the sprinkler head, water spraying her wrists as she twisted it. Marisha smirked, tracing the curve of the woman’s lower back with her eyes the way her tank top rode up just enough to reveal a strip of smooth skin when she bent over. Behind her, Sophia and Tamara lugged a box marked “KITCHEN” up the porch steps, their arms straining. “Mom,” Tamara huffed, “you gonna help or just stare at the neighbors all day?”
Marisha didn’t answer Tamara right away. Instead, she let her gaze linger a moment longer on the blonde woman, who had finally wrestled the sprinkler into submission and was now brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. Their eyes met just for a second before the neighbor straightened up, wiped her palms on her thighs, and offered a hesitant smile. Marisha returned it, slow and deliberate, like she was savoring the taste of something sweet.
The Sunday morning sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Marisha’s bare shoulders as she stretched. She hadn’t bothered with pajamas last night too exhausted from unpackingand now the cool air whispered against her skin as she padded to the window. Outside, the neighbor’s driveway was a tableau of suburban piety: the blonde woman from yesterday in a cream-colored dress that hugged her hips just right, flanked by two girls one with braces and a too-short hemline, the other with her mother’s practiced poise and a broad-shouldered man who looked like he’d been carved from a catalog for wholesome family values.
Marisha’s fingers curled around the windowsill. The man opened the passenger door for his wife with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and something hot and possessive coiled in Marisha’s stomach. She wondered how often he touched his wife like that like an obligation. The younger daughter giggled at something her sister said, and Marisha’s lips curved. Oh, baby girl, she thought, you don’t even know what you’re playing with yet.
Behind her, Tamara groaned into her pillow. “Mom, why are you hovering?”
“Church crowd’s leaving,” Marisha murmured, watching the minivan back out. The blonde woman glanced toward their house just a flicker before turning to adjust her daughter’s collar. Marisha exhaled slowly. She could work with that.
The safe in Marisha’s walk-in closet hummed as she punched in the code, its hydraulic hinges sighing open to reveal neat stacks of cash wrapped in crisp bands. The IRS would’ve had a field day with her books if they ever got their hands on them. But they wouldn’t. Her “consulting firm” had layers like an onion, ea ch one more legitimate-looking than the last, right down to the embossed business cards and the tastefully furnished office downtown where no actual work ever happened. The real money came from discreet arrangements, whispered referrals between certain circles who knew exactly what and who Marisha could procure.
Monday morning and Marisha plucked a bundle of hundreds from the safe, running her thumb along the edge. Middle-class neighborhoods were perfect for her purposes. Gated communities had cameras; McMansions had nosy HOA boards. But here? Here, women like her neighbor the blonde with the damp wrists and the husband who kissed her like a chore were ripe for the picking. Desperate housewives who’d never admit they were desperate, let alone what they were desperate for. Marisha smirked, tossing the cash onto the bed beside her silk robe. The girls would be home from their new school soon, and they would already have names and plans for the middle class girls, so they had plans to discuss.
The Webber minivan smelled like leather Bibles and spearmint gum, the kind of sterile piety that made Tetiana’s thighs stick to the vinyl seat. She pressed her forehead against the window, watching their new neighbors’ house blur past the sleek black Lexus in the driveway, the unopened moving boxes stacked haphazardly on the porch. Something about the way the curtains twitched in an upstairs window made her sit up straighter.
The Webber girls had been baking since dawn or at least that’s what their mother claimed, though the flour streaks on Caroline’s cheek and the way Hannah kept sneaking chocolate chips suggested otherwise. Tetiana, the eldest at sixteen, rolled her eyes as she arranged sugar cookies on a platter.
The Webber girls carried their cookie platter like a sacrament, Hannah’s fingers leaving smudges in the powdered sugar as she adjusted her grip. Caroline had insisted on wearing her “nice” dress pale yellow with a bow at the collar and Tetiana had let her, though she’d rolled her eyes at the way their mother patted Caroline’s hair into place one last time before they crossed the lawn. “Be polite,” their mother murmured, smoothing her own dress over her hips.
The doorbell chimed with the kind of cheerful innocence that made Marisha’s teeth ache. She took her time descending the stairs, letting the sound linger just long enough to build anticipation like a predator savoring the rustle of prey in the underbrush. Sophia and Tamara were already stationed in the living room, perched on the armrests of the sofa like cats eyeing a birdbath. Tamara had swapped her school hoodie for a crop top that showed off the sharp lines of her abs, while Sophia’s braids were twisted into a high ponytail that swayed when she tilted her head. “You think they brought snacks?” Sophia murmured, and Marisha shot her a look that said behavemostly.
The doorbell chimed again, impatient now, and Marisha let her palm glide along the banister as she descended the last few steps. She could see the silhouette of their visitors through the frosted glass three figures haloed by afternoon sun, the smallest one shifting from foot to foot. Marisha paused just out of sight, adjusting the neckline of her blouse to reveal the barest hint of cleavage. Normal. Friendly. Harmless.
“Coming!” she called, her voice honeyed with practiced warmth. The knob turned with a soft click, and suddenly there they were: Mrs. Webber with her tight smile and stiff shoulders, flanked by her daughters Caroline’s wide-eyed curiosity, Tetiana’s guarded skepticism. The scent of vanilla and brown sugar wafted from the cookie platter between them. “Oh my,” Marisha purred, pressing a hand to her chest. “You shouldn’t have.”
The living room smelled like sugar and nervous energy as Mrs. Webber perched on the edge of the sofa, her knees clamped together like she was afraid the cushions might swallow her whole. “school activities keeps us busy, but Caroline begged to bring cookies the moment she saw your moving truck.” The younger girl beamed, braces glinting, while Tetiana studied the framed art on the walls abstract pieces that hinted at skin and shadows if you looked too long.
Sophia stretched her arms overhead, the hem of her crop top riding up to reveal a sliver of taut stomach. “We go to Crestwood High,” she said, watching Tetiana’s gaze flicker to her bare skin before darting away. “Tamara’s on the volleyball team. I do debate.” She grinned, slow and deliberate. “We love a good argument.” Tamara snorted into her lemonade, the ice cubes clinking as she swirled the glass.
Mrs. Webber blinked at the casual way Tamara’s fingers lingered on Sophia’s knee proprietary, unapologetic. Caroline, oblivious, stuffed a cookie in her mouth. “Mom says we should invite you to youth group!” she announced, crumbs tumbling down her dress. Tetiana stiffened, her knuckles whitening around her napkin.
Marisha leaned forward, the neckline of her blouse gaping just enough to make Mrs. Webber’s throat bob when she reached for the pitcher. “How kind,” she murmured, pouring sweet tea into the woman’s glass with exaggerated care. “Though I’m afraid we’re not much for sermons.” Her fingertips brushed Mrs. Webber’s wrist as she withdrew. “We prefer... hands-on worship.”
The stairs creaked under Tetiana’s feet as Sophia led her up to the second floor, the chatter from the living room fading into a muffled hum. Sophia’s room smelled like coconut oil and that sharp, clean scent of new books the kind of smell that made Tetiana’s pulse jump in a way she couldn’t name. “Debate trophies,” Sophia said, gesturing to a shelf crowded with polished brass figures. “And these” She pulled a thick volume from her desk, its spine cracked with use. “are my real prizes.”
Tetiana leaned in, expecting Shakespeare or some pretentious philosophy text, but the book fell open to a spread of black-and-white photographs women tangled in sheets, their mouths open in silent laughter, fingers laced through each other’s hair. Not porn. Not quite. Something hungrier. “You” Tetiana’s voice caught. “You just keep this out?”
Sophia laughed, low and throaty, like she’d just shared a secret. “Yes,” she said, her thumb tracing the edge of a photo where a woman arched her back, fingers twisted in her own hair. “It’s very beautiful. And erotic.” She flipped the page slowly deliberately letting the girl see the way two bodies could curve into one another, all sweat-slick skin and whispered promises. Tetiana’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing the same pink as the highlighter abandoned on Sophia’s desk.
Sophia snapped the book shut with a deliberate thud, watching Tetiana’s pupils dilate as the images vanished. “Boys,” she said suddenly, flopping onto her bed with a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you have one? A boyfriend, I mean.”
Tetiana’s shoulders relaxed minutely, her fingers unclenching from the hem of her skirt. “Yeah. Brandon. He’s on the football team.” She said it like a recitation, like she’d practiced the words in front of a mirror.
Sophia rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. “Have you kissed him yet?”
Tetiana’s flush deepened. “No,” she admitted, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t ... I don’t know how.” The confession hung between them, raw and fragile.
The staircase trembled under Mrs. Webber’s impatient heel-tap. “Tetiana!
Sophia didn’t move, her lips still hovering near Tetiana’s ear where she’d whispered her promise. The warmth of her breath sent a shiver down Tetiana’s spine not quite fear, not quite excitement, but something molten in between. “Tomorrow,” Sophia murmured again, her teeth grazing the shell of Tetiana’s ear just enough to make her gasp. “After school. Bring your Bible if you need an excuse.”
The bible’s leather cover stuck to Tetiana’s palms as she climbed the porch steps, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the Lexus parked in the driveway. She’d told her mother she was studying with a classmate technically true, if studying meant whatever Sophia had implied with those knowing smirks and lingering touches. The door swung open before she could knock, revealing Tamara leaning against the frame in nothing but boy shorts and a sports bra, her skin gleaming with sweat. “Volleyball conditioning,” she said by way of explanation, stepping aside to let Tetiana in. “Sophia’s upstairs. Try not to look too terrified.”
The house smelled like incense and something richer underneath vanilla, maybe, or the faintest hint of weed. Tetiana’s sneakers squeaked against the hardwood as she followed the sound of piano music drifting down from Sophia’s room. The door stood ajar, and through the crack she could see Sophia bent over a notebook, her braids cascading over one shoulder as she scribbled something with furious concentration. Tetiana cleared her throat. Sophia looked up, her smile slow and predatory. “You brought it,” she said, nodding at the bible. “Good girl.”
Sophia’s pencil hovered mid-sentence when Tetiana blurted it out”How do you know?” The words hung between them, sharp as shattered glass. Sophia blinked, then grinned, snapping the notebook shut with one hand while the other reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Tetiana’s ear. “Know what, church girl? How to make a boy beg?” Her fingers trailed down to Tetiana’s collarbone, tracing the starched edge of her polo shirt. “Or how to make him irrelevant?”
Tetiana’s breath hitched as Sophia’s fingers lingered on the hollow of her throat, but she didn’t pull away. The Bible slipped from her grip, thudding onto the rug with a sound that should’ve been louder should’ve snapped her out of whatever this was. Instead, she leaned into the touch, her pulse rabbiting under Sophia’s fingertips. “I just mean” Her voice cracked. “You’re so sure. About everything.”
Sophia leaned in, her breath warm against Tetiana’s cheek. “This is your first kiss,” she murmured, her voice a velvet whisper. “Soft. Just on the lips.” And then she did licked her mouth brushed Tetiana’s in a touch so light it could’ve been a shadow passing over. Tetiana froze, her fingers clutching at the hem of her polo shirt, the fabric wrinkling under her grip. The kiss lasted less than a heartbeat, but it left her lips tingling, her chest tight with something between panic and yearning. Sophia pulled back just enough to study her face, her dark eyes flickering with amusement. “See?” she said, thumb grazing the corner of Tetiana’s mouth. “Not so scary.”
Sophia’s tongue slid between Tetiana’s parted lips with the precision of a key turning in a lock just a flicker of wet heat before she pulled back, leaving Tetiana’s mouth tingling and her thoughts scattered. The younger girl swayed forward almost imperceptibly, her eyelids fluttering like she was chasing the sensation, before catching herself and stiffening. Sophia smirked, wiping her thumb along her own lower lip as if savoring the taste. “Disappointed?” she teased, watching the flush creep from Tetiana’s cheeks down to the collar of her polo. “I thought you church girls were supposed to have patience.”
Tetiana’s pulse hammered in her throat, wild and erratic, as Sophia’s lips met hers again this time not teasing, not testing, but claiming. The kiss was deeper now, Sophia’s tongue tracing the seam of Tetiana’s lips until they parted with a shuddering gasp. The Bible lay forgotten at their feet, its pages splayed open like wings. Tetiana clutched at Sophia’s shoulders, her fingers digging into warm skin, unsure whether she was pulling her closer or pushing her away. Sophia made the decision for her, crowding her back against the door frame until the wood pressed into Tetiana’s spine a sharp contrast to the softness of Sophia’s mouth.
Sophia’s hands slid down Tetiana’s sides, mapping the tremors wracking her body with a knowing precision. When her thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just above Tetiana’s waistband, the younger girl whimpered a sound that seemed to startle her as much as it thrilled Sophia. “You’re shaking,” Sophia murmured against her lips, her voice thick with amusement and something darker. She nipped at Tetiana’s lower lip, tugging just enough to make her gasp. “You can tell me to stop.” It wasn’t an offer. It was a challenge.
The knock was sharp three quick raps that made Tetiana jolt backward, her lips still parted from Sophia’s kiss. Sophia didn’t move, her smirk deepening as the door swung open to reveal Marisha balancing a tray of sweating glasses, condensation dripping onto her polished nails. “Thought you girls might be thirsty,” she purred, her gaze flickering from Sophia’s smug expression to Tetiana’s flushed face, the Bible lying abandoned at their feet.
Marisha handed the first glass to Sophia with a pointed glancebehavebefore offering the second to Tetiana. The ice clinked as the girl took it, her fingers trembling against the chilled surface. “Th-thank you,” Tetiana stammered, her voice uneven. Marisha watched her throat work as she swallowed, the lemonade leaving a faint sheen on her lips. Good, Marisha thought. The sedative would soften her edges, the aphrodisiac would sharpen the hunger Sophia had already stoked. A perfect cocktail.
Sophia sipped her own drink slowly, her eyes never leaving Tetiana’s face as the younger girl shifted uncomfortably under their combined scrutiny. The room felt smaller suddenly, the air thick with the scent of citrus and something muskier underneath. Tetiana’s pupils were already dilating, her breaths coming quicker whether from the drugs or the memory of Sophia’s mouth, Marisha couldn’t tell. Maybe both.
“Caroline was asking about you,” Marisha said lightly, adjusting the strap of her blouse where it had slipped off one shoulder. Tetiana’s gaze darted to the exposed skin before snapping back to her glass, her knuckles whitening around it. “She’s very curious about our family.” Marisha let the implication hang, watching Tetiana’s pulse jump in her throat. The girl was pliant now, her resistance dissolving under the chemical warmth spreading through her veins.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind Marisha with the finality of a vault sealing. She moved with purpose to her walk-in closet, her fingers already working the buttons of her blouse free. The safe stood open from earlier, but it wasn’t cash she needed now it was the lacquered mahogany box tucked behind her winter coats. The hinges gave way with a whisper, revealing the silicone harness nestled in black satin, its accompanying dildo gleaming like obsidian under the closet lights.