We live in an apartment on the fourth floor of a block of apartment buildings. Our neighbours are nice and quiet and I mostly keep to myself anyway, though I like to watch them on occasion, from what little I can see peeking across the yard into other people’s windows. And there, right across the yard, a floor below me, lived a family that caught my attention.

They look slightly foreign, probably Indian, a mother and her two kids, a boy and a girl. If there’s a father, I never see him around. The kids are older teens, though their age is hard to tell from a distance. The mother looks like she’s about mom’s age, maybe a little younger, so perhaps around 40 or so.

What was remarkable was the horribly abusive behaviour of those kids. During the summer, all I could see was the girl, sunbathing on the balcony and ordering her mother around, having her get drinks and magazines and whatever else the little brat got into her head. And sometimes I could hear the boy yell from inside the house. Meanwhile, the poor woman acted incredibly scared and stressed. I felt really sorry for her.

So one day, when I was home early from work and the girl was out on the balcony again, I had enough. Still donning my social-worker-cap, and with a few special items in my handbag, I went over to their building and looked through the row of doorbells. Third floor, probably on the left, I thought. The name was Nadeem, which sounded sufficiently Indian to me, so I rang.

“Yes?” a female voice answered the intercom.

“Hi, I’m from social services,” I introduced myself. “Can I come in for a moment?”

Instead of an answer, she buzzed the door and I went up the three flights of stairs. These older buildings usually don’t have elevators in them, so by the time I arrived at her door, a round, pretty female face watched me through a gap while I was catching my breath.

I introduced myself again and said: “I’m sorry, Miss, but there have been some reports from neighbours about loud yelling from your apartement. Is everything alright there?”

She looked at me surprised and a little shocked. “I ... I’m sorry,” she stammered, almost inaudibly.

I nodded. “It’s alright,” I said, trying to calm her, “can I come in for a moment? I hate to discuss this out here in the hallway.”

She hesitated, but then slowly pulled the door open wider to let me in. I thanked her and walked into a neat, very clean and nicely decorated apartment. The woman closed the door behind me and motioned me friendly into the living room, where a door led out to the balcony.

She was small and stocky, certainly a head shorter than me, so probably around 160 cm at the most, with a full figure, a round, friendly face and a warm smile. Her teeth were not too even, but shone clean and white from her tanned face, and her braided black hair hung long down her back.

She wore that typical Indian dress, the Sari, in a bright red with yellow embroidery and a teal coloured Choli underneath that stretched wide to contain what seemed to be a nice, full, busty set of breasts, showing equally tanned skin through her sides and what little it revealed of her figure was nice and soft and curvy. “Okay, Miss Nadeem?” I said, waiting for her to nod to confirm her name. “You live here with your kids?”

She nodded again. “Two kids,” she said.

“Is there a Mr. Nadeem?” I asked.

She looked down and shook her head. “He is ... I live alone, he doesn’t come here.”

I sighed. “Okay, and your children are... ?” I started.

She smiled again. “Sanju. He’s 19. And my daughter Jessica, she’s 18,” she said. “They’re both still in school.”

I nodded. “So, can you tell me what your neighbours might have heard then?” I asked. She looked around and lowered her voice. “Please,” she said. “My son, he’s ... sometimes he gets loud and upset. I promise I’ll keep him quiet, just ... don’t worry, please?” She looked at me almost pleading.

Suddenly, the girl started yelling from the balcony. “Mom!” she said loud. “Come here and rub my back!”

Mrs. Nadeem shrieked and looked panicked. “Not now, Jessica,” she answered in a scared tone. “We’ve got a visitor!”

Jessica moaned upset, but didn’t reply. I gently grabbed the mother’s arm and pulled her slightly aside, away from the balcony door. “Mrs. Nadeem,” I said, looking sternly and concerned into her eyes. “I can’t help but notice that you seem kinda jumpy, and if I had to guess, I’d say your kids are scaring you.”

She didn’t answer right away but looked down again. Finally, she said: “Please, they’re good kids. They just ... they’re spoiled, that’s all. Maybe I’m spoiling them.”

I smiled and nodded. “I see,” I said. “You know, I’m here to help everyone, and so would like to have a word with your kids as well, if I can. I think it’s for your own best, too.” Looking deep into her eyes, she seemed fragile, almost desperate, and maybe now a little relieved that someone else was there and she wouldn’t need to deal with her kids alone.

She smiled and nodded, stepping aside. “My son is not here at the moment,” she said. “But my daughter is outside.” She pointed at the balcony.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out into the sunlit area. A girl lay on a recliner, with her eyes closed. She was slightly taller than her mother, and a little more chubby, with the same tan skin and black hair, except hers was cut into a short bob. “Finally,” she said without opening her eyes. “Now grab the sunscreen and rub it on me. I don’t want to get a sunburn. And while you’re at it, you can rub between my legs again, too. I need a little relief.”

I quietly walked beside her and instead of the bottle of sunscreen I grabbed her cold juice off the table next to her. Hearing me pick something up, she pulled down her bikini bra under her small, saggy breasts, still thinking I was her mother getting ready to cream her.

“So who was that stupid visitor anywaaaaaahh...” she began, suddenly shrieking as I poured the ice cold drink all over her tits. She sat up, startled, staring at me speechless with wide open eyes. “So,” I said, grinning as I leaned against the balustrade, “you must be Jessica.”

She still just stared at me, slightly angry now, but without answering. “So why do you need your mother to rub between your legs, Jessica?” I asked in a conversational tone. “Can’t you do it yourself?”

She shrugged. “She’s good at it,” she said.

“Hm,” I replied. “And what does she get out of it?”

She folded her arms in front of her soaked chest. “Nothing,” she replied. “Except I won’t tell anyone about her and Sanju.”

“Aha,” I said. “And what about her and Sanju.”

She looked at me angry, but for a moment, the anger at her mom was stronger and she tried to get back at her for letting me treat her like that, so she said: “Sanju fucks her,” she said quietly, “in the pussy.”

For a moment I wondered if it would make a difference if Sanju fucked her in the ass, but then I just smiled and stepped up to Jessica. “Okay,” I said calmly, “here’s what we’re going to do. You and me, we’ll go inside and you’ll apologize to your mother. And you’ll mean it. And then you’ll offer to make up for how you’ve been treating her and promise to be a good girl from now on. Because if I ever hear a complain about you, I’ll come here again, and I won’t be friendly.”

She just looked at me stubborn and shook her head. “No way,” she said. “That bitch better be nice to me, or I tell about Sanju to everyone.”

I took a deep breath. I have no patience with kids, and spoiled brats are my nemesis, so I just slapped her, sudden and violently, hard across her face, and grabbed her by her hair as I dragged her into the living room. She shrieked and thrashed, but I would not let her go until I threw her to the floor in front of her mother. “Now apologize,” I said again, harsher.