Unintentional

This is a work of fiction...

There was knock at the door, not the doorbell, but a knock.

A knock had a particular significance, at least knocks of a certain kind.

This one was that kind.

Three, pause. Two, pause. Three more.

Hank looked at his watch and shook his head. There was no one expected at this hour, no one wanted, as far as that was concerned. He sat for a moment, thinking of ignoring the knock, letting whoever it was determine that he either wasn't interested or wasn't home.

The knock came again.

He waited.

And again.

Damn! He thought, guess someone's in need.

On the walk to his front door, Hank hoped the persistent caller would have already decided to leave, that his opening the door would be fruitless, the porch empty.

It wasn't.

Standing in the darkness, illuminated only by light issuing forth from inside his house, Hank saw a young female, what he would consider a girl.

Hank was 47 years old, though he looked a little younger, somewhere in his late 30's, as if that small amount really mattered.

The girl looked very young to him, younger than she ought to be, knocking on his door like that, at this time of night. Knocking in the rhythm that implied she knew something, wanted something, expected something from Hank that others had gotten, still got whenever they could schedule time.

Hank looked at her with a scowl on his face.

She was smiling, sheepishly.

"What can I do for you, miss?" he asked politely, more politely than he wanted, out of respect for her age, or lack thereof. He figured, in a glance, that she had somehow knocked the special knock by mistake, and in her ignorance had intruded on his evening.

"Uh, I... well, I'm here for the... treatment," she said, stammering, saying the words as if they were rehearsed, memorized, not truly meant.

Hank scowled again. "Y must be mistaken," he said, a bit taken aback by her words, the words he required to be said before he let anyone in who really was there for his treatment.

"Uh, no... I'm here for the treatment, sir," she said again. "I know what that means."

From the tone of her voice, Hank thought she really believed what she was saying, that she knew about what followed those words. But, he thought she still didn't know for sure what she was saying.

"Who put you up to this? This some kinda joke?" he asked, his tone hard, edgy. He wasn't in the mood for jokes.

"No... I, uh, am here for the treatment," the girl said, her eyes pleading, as if she wanted to say more but didn't dare.

Hank stepped out onto the porch, forcing the girl backwards. He looked both ways, up and down the street in front of his house, wondering who was hiding, watching, thinking this was funny.

Then he had another thought.

"You a cop, or work for 'em?" he asked. "'Cause if you are then you can get the hell outta here. I don't do anything illegal." He stepped towards her as he spoke, his large body looming over her, threatening in its own way.

"No sir, I'm no cop. This is no joke. I'm here..." she started to repeat the statement but Hank interrupted.

"Stop! Goddamn, let's talk inside," Hanks patience was thin, easily exhausted this particular evening.

The girl nodded, went inside after he motioned her ahead of himself. For the first time Hank noticed her physically, really looking at her body rather than seeing her with a filter, as he had been doing, already having categorized her as too young. Her ass was full and firm looking, her tits larger than average, especially for a girl this size. Hank put her at about a size 3.

Maybe she's older'n I thought, he told himself, but still too young for me.

Too young to be knocking on his door and asking for the treatment.

The sound of the door being shut made the girl stop. There was nothing spoken, but she stopped in front of the mirror, just as he made the others, the ones who were really there for what he offered.

"Now, miss...?" Hank waited for her to give her name.

"...Tracy," she answered on cue.

"...Tracy, okay. Now, Tracy, why are you here?" he asked in a tone that left no doubt he was still irritated.

"I'm here..." she started once more but Hank stopped her again, this time by slapping his hands down on a table he had in front of the mirror.

In a tone that he knew was scary, intentionally, he interrupted her. "Goddammit! No more of that shit! Now you either tell me why you're really here or I'm either gonna throw you out on your ass or call the cops! Understand?"

The look on her face was startled and scared.

Good, he thought, now maybe she'll cut the shit.

"Uh...er... I'm telling the truth," she said quietly.

Hank started to grab her and pitch her out into the dark, hoping she'd run back to whoever had put her up to this, crying, and he could get back to his quiet evening. Instead, he deiced to try another approach.

"Okay...Tracy," he said slowly, "Just what kind of treatment are you hear for?"

Without hesitation she answered, "The same type you give the others who come."

"Hmmm, well, and what would that be?" Hank asked, still believing this was a set-up of some kind.

Tracy hesitated. Swallowed, then answered, "Bondage, training, whatever master desires..."

Hank stepped back. She had said the words he required of those who had been to him before, who were really there for treatment, his treatment.

"How do you know about this, Tracy?" he asked.

This time she blushed, looked down at her feet, her mouth opening a few times before any sound came out.

"I...uh...sir, well, I spied on you," she said, so quietly that Hank almost didn't understand what she said.

When his mind had processed the words, he was surprised at what she had said.

"Well, tell me what you saw," Hank was still skeptical.

"I saw you with... Helen... saw you..." she seemed afraid to say what she had in mind.

"Go ahead, Tracy," Hank said, now very intrigued by the girl's story.

"Well, I saw you make he strip... then you cuffed her hands behind her back... then you..." Tracy glanced at him quickly, then averted her eyes.

"Yes, Tracy.... then I did what?" Hank felt a twinge of concern as he listened.

"You... whipped her breasts, her nipples, until she was... begging," Tracy's voice had taken on a sort of heavy tone, thick, as if she had a hard time saying the words.

Hank walked behind the girl and looked over her head at her image in the mirror.

"Go on," he said.

"She begged... for you... for your...," Tracy looked up at Hank in the mirror. He nodded.

"...for your big cock... she said she'd do anything..."

Hank knew she had indeed seen his session with Helen Garnett, a divorced woman, mid 30's, heavy hanging tits, huge nipples, rounded hips and a full bush of pubic hair and addicted to bondage. In particular, Hank's treatment. The only other option as that Helen had put the girl up to this as some sort of sick joke, wanting to arouse his anger, or lust, or both.

But, Helen wasn't due for another treatment, another session for at least a week.

Made no sense to do this at this time.

"Uh huh, Tracy, you are correct about that. Do you know Helen?" he asked, hoping to see where this was going.

"No sir, I don't know her except from here," the girl answered.

"How'd you spy on us, Tracy? Those sessions are private." Hank wanted to here this answer.

"I snuck in your house. I live down the street. You left your back door unlocked. I... hid in the closet."

Hank shook his head. "Well, then I guess I should call the cops. You broke in my house..."

Tracy interrupted him. "Technically I didn't break in. You left it unlocked..."

The look on Hank's face kept her from finishing the sentence.

"Okay, Tracy, games over. Time for you to go. Want me to call your mother or are you gonna walk home?" Hank had heard enough and was getting irritable and tired.

"No, please... sir, this is no game... and my parents lives in another state. I want..." Her eyes met his and Hank saw truth.

"How old are you, Tracy?" He asked the question he knew he needed to ask.

"Twenty. I'm twenty. I go to the university. I..." her voice trailed off.

Hank looked at her again, reversed as her image was in the mirror, studying her body, her face, to see if he really thought she might be telling the truth. What he saw made him shrug.

Could be, he thought.

It still didn't matter. She might be of legal age, but he had never been turned on by young girls. He could appreciate their lovely bodies, tight and beautiful, but Hank had sex with minds, with brains, with attitudes. Mature ones. He was seldom sexually excited by mere visual stimulation.

"Okay, Tracy. You're twenty and you can leave now. You saw me with one of my friends and that's that. Nothing we do is illegal, we're consenting adults. And, I don't appreciate you're spying, illegal or not. I will promise to lock my doors, cover my windows and make sure you can't intrude on the private times of other people. Good-bye." Hank had walked to the door and opened it as he spoke.

Tracy didn't budge.

"Please, sir, I beg you,' she pleaded. "Do to me what you did to Helen. To all the others. I beg you. I'll do anything for you, just please don't make me leave." Hank felt a stirring at her words. His balls began to churn a bit, his cock begin to fill slightly with blood.

Hank shut the door.

"How many others have you seen?" He asked.

"None, inside" she said. "I have watched them come and go... men and women."

Hank shook his head. He tried to be as subtle about his activity, mainly for the privacy of his friends, clients, whatever they should be called. Obviously he hadn't been subtle enough.

"How'd you find out about this?"

Tracy looked at him sideways. "I, uh, well, I am somewhat of a voyeur. I have always liked to watch others. I happened to be walking home one night when I saw a lady walking to your front door. She looked, well, dressed for something more than a dinner date. I thought she might be a hooker. I love to watch...."

"...sex?" Hank finished for her.

Tracy nodded.

"Go on," Hank prompted.

"I, uh, well, snuck around your house, hoping to be able to see. I couldn't ever really see, but I heard. From the back. Her groans. I don't know what you did, but after a while, I listened to her orgasms. She screamed...." Tracy was breathing heavily.

Hank knew she was speaking of Sherry Arnold. Sherry was in her forties, widowed, and loved to fuck. Hardcore, anything-goes kind of sex. Hank gave her what she wanted.

And she did scream.

Oh well, he thought, I knew someone had to hear that.

Tracy was continuing. "So, I came back, watched. There were lots of others. It didn't make sense 'cause you were a male. I thought perhaps you had a lady who was a prostitute. But, I never saw a lady. Only you. But there were men as well as women who came. I didn't know what..."

Hank nodded.

He did men as well as women. Bi-sexual, whatever you wanted to call it. Sex. Two or more people, doing what they wanted, needed, desired. He never tried to label himself. But others would consider him bi.

"But I knew I had to know. So, I found your door open one evening, slipped in, hid, and watched. I'm sorry...I just couldn't help myself..." Tracy's voice was serious.

Hank raised a hand to stop her.

"Okay, fine. If you did really watch who came and went, then you shoulda noticed one particular thing about all of them. Can you tell me what that is?" Hank thought he'd let her in on his own preferences.

Tracy shook her head.

"Well, Tracy, you should be more observant. Coulda saved yourself some embarrassment." He walked up close to her, put his mouth next to her ear, breathed into it, letting the goose-bumps cover the young girl's flesh. He knew without looking she was shivering with the sensation of his breath in her ear. There was no doubt in his mind.

When he looked in the mirror, her eyes were closed and her mouth hung open. The sight made his cock and balls stir some more.

Shit, he said to himself, get this over with.

"Tracy," he whispered into her ear, watching her face as he did, "I don't do youngsters... even legal ones."

Her eyes slid open, heavy and full of lust. She mouthed the word.

Please.

Hank felt his body react to her plea. Before he knew what was happening, he felt something touch his crotch. Then he knew what it was as her hand firmly grabbed his cock and balls through his pants. There was no doubt she knew he was growing excited.

The bulge didn't lie.

Please, she mouthed again.

Hank's cock was growing in her hand, along with his lust.

Damn, I don't do this! he told himself. But, he made no move to pull away from her grip on his crotch.

By the time his internal voice's had gotten halfway through the discussion as to what he was going to do, Hank's ten inch cock was completely hard. Tracy's eyes were locked on his and he was sure his were as filled with lust as hers.

"Goddamn," he said, "I should punish you for spying." His tone was low and non-threatening. It was a weak justification for going against his own personal rules, and he knew it.

He also knew his lust was growing, hardening like his cock.

Tracy gasped at his words, "Yes, please... I beg you..."