CW: Over the top, far-fetched smutty work of fantasy. Humiliation, coercion, SPH, lots of dirty talk, offensive language and sexual bullying. This is a slow-burn, long build up. Skip it if it's not your thing. Otherwise, enjoy.
All characters depicted are well over 18 years of age.
They say every man's home is his castle. If that's true then I did a piss-poor job of defending mine. The naked truth is, within only five months of moving into the subdivision I surrendered my stronghold to Kurt Lutz, my next door neighbor. I had opened the gates, thrown down the drawbridge, and raised the white flag. There were no two ways about it and no going back. Even after everything I can't understand how I had let him take over so thoroughly.
From the outset I got weird vibes from the man. He looked like he was in his late 50s and he seemed to be retired. I later learned that he was 59, had served in the Navy and Merchant Marines. While to my wife he was perfectly nice and friendly, at first I thought he disliked me. There was a coolness in his demeanor with me, as well as a slight but unmistakable, perpetual smirk.
With my job fully remote, and hers requiring her to travel at least 3 weeks of each month, I was much more aware of our neighbor than she was. He had the build and countenance of a gym teacher, broad shouldered, bald on top with the blonde remnants kept short in a crew cut. A heavy brow over deep set icy blue eyes. We were about the same height but he must have had at least 50 lbs. on me, with wide hips, a bit of a paunch, and barrel chest. He seemed to wear a uniform of jean shorts, a sleeveless t-shirt revealing arms and shoulders padded with dense brown hair, sneakers and tube socks rolled up his melon calves. All he was missing was a whistle. At first, he'd barely acknowledge me, all grunts and glowering. Despite being a grown man, 34 years old, I found his gruffness intimidating.
I took his coldness in stride and made an effort to always say hi, ask how his day was going. I wanted to be on good terms with my neighbors, after all, but I was also curious about him for reasons I couldn't completely understand. In retrospect I realize that right from the beginning I wanted the man's approval and attention.
One day my company sent us a gift package filled with cookies and various treats that both my wife and I couldn't enjoy as we were on keto. Without thinking, I brought them over to Kurt, standing on his doorstep like a suitor with a bouquet.
He chuckled at the sight of me, then laughed at my offer. He laughed even harder when he learned why we didn't want them in our house. He clearly sneered at the idea of a man committing to a diet.
"Sure thing, pal. I got a real sweet tooth myself. And I'm not so worried about my girlish figure." He patted his stomach, laughing, then took the tray out of my hands. He put it on a table next to his door then popped a brownie into his mouth. He winked at me as he chewed it noisily, staring at me for a few moments. He looked at his fingers, stained with fudge and gave them a lick, then he shocked me by reaching forward and wiping them down the side of my face. His touch was gentle, almost affectionate. I could feel the residue of saliva and chocolate on my skin.
Lutz laughed, looking at me with that smirk. He then closed his door in my face without any kind of thanks. I could have swore he pursed his lips at me in an air kiss before the door slammed. I was left staring at my reflection in the glass of his door, a smear of chocolate on the side of my temple and one cheek. He had used my face as his napkin.
I quickly retreated to my yard. My cheeks were flushed, heart pounding, I knew I was blushing. He had just blatantly disrespected me. Laughed in my face. But instead of feeling insulted, I was strangely excited. I looked at my beet red face in the bathroom mirror as I wiped off the chocolate. My hands were shaking.
Why had I just let him touch me like that? More than anything I was confused by my reaction. I was free from anger. I was embarrassed but I also felt oddly happy. Somehow appreciative of the attention.
I realized that I could either never talk to him again, or pretend it didn't happen and continue to play the part of the friendly neighbor. I chose the latter. The very next day I said hi to him on the way to the gym, and he smiled, shook his head and waved back with a teasing grin.
After another week of dogged friendliness and politeness on my part he began to warm up to me. He would acknowledge me, call me over for a chat about the weather or something mundane. Being summoned to these prosaic conversations always made me feel both pleased and slightly nervous. There was something in his cold, heavy-lidded blue eyes, a kind of predatory hunger. He had an attentive gaze, a slow way of speaking, a deliberate and heavy way of moving his big body.
Once we were "pals" I learned that Lutz was a close talker. Whenever he cornered me in the driveway he practically put his belly up against mine. It always felt purposefully assertive, like he wanted me to know he could invade my space without repercussions. With his craggy face inches from mine I'd smell his coffee and cigars, whiskey or beer if it was later in the day. He maintained intense eye contact and I often found myself weakly breaking it to look at our feet. His hairy shins, his wide sneakers up against my shoes. This seemed to please him, each time I wordlessly capitulated.
He was hands-on, too. He would hold my waist or shoulders when we chatted, or grab my arm by the bicep to intercept me, then lean his heavy body over mine when showing me how to unclog a pipe or lay grout. At first I had flinched at his touch but I quickly adapted, letting him hold me and handle me however he pleased. Lutz had big, rough hands and I sensed his strength. Plus he significantly outweighed me. I probably could not have shaken him off, even if I had wanted to.
Between that and the looks he gave me, these interactions left me feeling confused and uncomfortable, but also strangely gratified. The way he looked at me, that smile, it felt like there was some inside joke that we shared, one I didn't completely understand but was happy to play along with. The game seemed to be that he was in control and I would let him push me around. For some reason I liked playing it with him. I would let him back me up against my garage door or car, let him press his paunch into my stomach while he talked, blowing his coffee and cigar breath right in my face. I would let him pepper me with questions, or lecture me with unsolicited advice about yard work or home repair.
I'd stand there and receive his criticism of whatever I was doing. Absorb a long lecture on proper car maintenance or hedge trimming. He actually helped quite a bit. Lutz had sensed early on that I was not handy in the least, but under his tutelage I learned a lot. I just had to put up with the good-natured condescension and constant jibes at my manhood.
The jokes were wide-ranging and constant. Lots of innuendos about an ineptitude with tools corresponding to a lack of prowess in the bedroom. According to Lutz, I didn't know my pecker from Phillips Head. Rather than irritate me, I found it oddly exciting to be talked down to.
Two weeks into our unbalanced friendship I learned that his lessons came at a cost. I was mowing the lawn Saturday morning and he stomped over, turning the mower off.
"Christ, you're doing a piss-poor job of that. Ain't you ever mowed a lawn before?" He gave a harsh laugh, looking me up and down in disgust. After several unsolicited tips on getting the ideal striping pattern, he looked me in the eyes coolly, hands on his hips.
"Tell you what, I'm gonna let you go ahead and do mine too while you're at it. You clearly need the practice, kid." He grumbled, a sardonic smile on his face. He was telling me to mow his lawn for him, and making it sound like he was doing me a favor. My vision blurred just a bit and I felt myself blushing furiously, embarrassed.
