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Falling for a Femme Fatale – Ch. 1 (Commission)
🕑 Added 2023-01-23 00:00:03 +0000 UTCThanks to PJ for commissioning this brand-new, multi-part story!
***
Wow, it's her again!
Not that I'm truly surprised. I always see her – the green-eyed goddess – out jogging this time every afternoon, just like clockwork. To be perfectly honest, this new neighbor of mine is kinda why I've started taking an afternoon walk at the same time. Not to be creepy or anything, of course! It's just that, well…
She's pretty damn hot. And what's wrong with putting myself in a better position to appreciate her hotness?
Here she comes. Act natural, I sternly tell myself, just as I have these last four weeks. Just nod and keep on walking. Don't let her see that you're checking her out. Closer. Still closer. Here, I'll get over on my side of the sidewalk to let her pass-
"Hey."
What, me-? She's talking to- to me? She's not on the phone, or-
"Um, hi. Hi?" I'm blushing already, tongue-tied, trying not to let on how flummoxed I am to have this pretty woman addressing me. But that's exactly what she's doing: hands on hips, her gorgeous full chest heaving from exertion beneath her black sports bra, her twinkling emerald eyes glancing me up and down appraisingly. "I always see you out here taking a walk," she smiles, and now I can't help but grin back in an idiotic, reflexive response. "You live near here?"
Yeah. Yeah, I do… just over there… So I tell her, then I return the question with a "how about you?", though I already know exactly where she lives. Look, I promise I'm not a creep! I just happen to know that the ritzy mansion down the way has been empty for the last two years. And also that it's been occupied ever since I got back from Cancun a month ago.
"I'm Amber, by the way," she offers, and now I'm taking her extended hand awkwardly in my own sweaty one. "Peter," I reply, fighting not to let on how her mere touch is sending these shivers of delightful electric tingles rippling through me. "But, I mean, everyone calls me, um, PJ-"
"Aww, PJ, so nice to meet you! And it's such a nice, quiet neighborhood here, too, you know…" She's clearly a bubbly and extroverted personality, and as she gushes on I find myself nodding along in silence, just like I always do around extroverts. "Don't know why I didn't stop to chat earlier," she shrugs. "I guess I was just so focused on moving in, and remodeling, and all this crazy stuff I've got going on…"
Yeah? Of course. Yeah, uh-huh. Sure, that makes sense. I'm simply smiling, nodding along, agreeing… completely mesmerized by her mere presence and the lilt of her warm voice. She's… wow. She's such a remarkable person! I mean, now that I see her up close, those couple of grey hairs are telling me that she might be a few years older than me, but so what? She's still pretty. And confident, too – so very confident.
Our chat lasts only four, maybe five minutes at the most. But they're five minutes I replay in my head over and over during the coming days. And it's those minutes that persuade me to take the initiative at last… and in so doing, to change my entire life in ways I'd never before imagined.
***
It's just a bottle of Chardonnay, of course. Hell, I don't know if Amber likes Chardonnay, or even if she drinks wine at all! But that's beside the point, I tell myself, pulling it for the hundredth time from the mauve bag full of rustling tissue paper and rearranging it in what I hope is an aesthetically pleasing manner. A bottle of wine is simply the thing to give, at least according to the etiquette websites I've consulted online. It's the standard housewarming gift: the socially acceptable protocol that I need to follow if I want to get on good terms with her.
Though maybe, just maybe, it can also become my ticket to enter the mysterious mansion in which she lives.
She's basically invited me over, anyway, I keep telling myself as I pull the door shut behind me, then head down the sidewalk toward my destination. "Feel free to stop by anytime," she had beamed that afternoon, and I'd thrilled as much at her words as at the sight of her fingers stroking back a wisp of her dark hair. "It's just so great to get to know your neighbors, really…"
It will be. Oh, it will be.
My fingers are trembling slightly on the brushed aluminum of her doorbell, but I press it nonetheless. I need to see what happens. Gotta take chances. Shoot my shot. YOLO. All that jazz-
And as the door opens, my heart literally skips a beat. Or maybe three.
She's there, her initial look of quizzical inquiry melting away into a radiant smile. Yet it's a smile that only briefly pulls my attention away from a salacious fact… that she's currently wearing nothing more than lingerie.
"Oh, PJ, what a surprise! No, no, come on in! Please excuse me – I'm not exactly dressed for company right now, but, I mean, I don't mind if you don't? I was just in the middle of something-"
No, no, of course! I- I don't mind- I manage to stammer out, heart nearly thudding its way out of my chest. I most certainly don't mind such a sight… and neither does my unruly cock, as I can already feel my jeans tightening with my unholy thoughts flooding my mind. It- it was so surreal – almost like the start of some lame porno. Oh, dear me, I can't seem to find my clothes! Whatever should I do, mister?
In past the marble-panelled walls and giant potted plants she draws me, her naked back and bare hips swaying, pulling me forward with their seductive motion. All around us are the most lavish, extraordinary decorations: in one room, a chandelier of cloudlike tissue paper and papier maché; in another, fluffy chairs seemingly made of puffy, transparent fabric; along the hall a bevy of paintings with nude figures reclining amid diaphanous pink clouds. My widening eyes note as well the many gleaming tables scattered throughout, each graced by its own substantial box of… what appear to be paper tissues. An odd-sounding detail, to be sure. Yet strangely enough, the puffs of thin cotton rising from each seem to magnify and harmonize with the wispy, ethereal vibe.
Damn – this is definitely not your average home decor.
Yet it's her sensual appearance above all that leaves me hopelessly tongue-tied. Into a massive, airy room she leads me at last, and even when she tells me to wait here while she takes care of a little something, I can only nod and stammer out an incoherent reply.
Oh, god, this is- just, wow. Am I dreaming?
A long minute ticks by. My heart flutters and settles down into a slightly less frenetic rhythm. I decide that things would look less awkward if I wasn't just standing here with a bottle of wine in a suddenly cheap-looking bag. So I step forward, pushing aside another burgeoning box of tissues and settling the bag on the little end table. Hmm, what shall I tell her? "Here's just a little something you might enjoy?" Maybe "I was thinking of you, and I-" No, that sounds too forward-
It's like a thunderbolt falling from heaven when those arms seize me from behind. I yelp in fright – or rather, I think I do? But now there's something flying up toward my face, clouding my vision, filling my nose and mouth and eyes with its soft, cottony touch. And oh, that thick, cloyingly sweet smell! It- it's seeping into my nose, my mouth, my lungs… my brain…
"Shh… hold still and let it happen…"
It's her voice. As the smooth arms tighten inexorably around me and I struggle to realize what is happening, my flailing limbs freeze in uncomprehending shock. She- she's holding me- This half-naked woman! I- I can't fight- I don't want to- hurt her… can't hurt… Amber…
Darkness is falling. Eyes so heavy. Sweet smell… everywhere. Heavy. Everything… heavy. Am… ber…
The last thing I remember, before everything fades to black, is the soft rustling of cotton tissues in my ears.
(To be continued!)
Comments
Paul Bennett
Great start. I look forward to reading more soon. By the way I enjoyed the way you described the decor of the Femme Fatale.
