The Boy Next Door Pt. 01

Across the street was an unremarkable house; it stood two floors tall with clean white shutters decorating the windows, and weathered blue shingles that suggested a wet climate but not poor maintenance. The porch had a single rocking chair and an oak colored table beside it which Mrs. Smith had liked to make good use of every morning. Not particularly interesting, she seemed to have the useful skill of being invisible to the community around her while overhearing the range of community gossip from whispers to shouts. Perhaps it's because she was unassuming and plain, whether she knew your business or not, what could she really do? At least that's what people thought, and they took no care to mince their words in the driveway, threshold to the house, and in their dining rooms around the dinner table with windows open wide. In truth, 12 Hover Street, looked exactly like every other house in the cul de sac: blue, boring, and uneventful save for the occasional summer block party of incessant prattle, hair spray, and sunscreen. No one knew much of Mrs. Smith except that she was a widow who still wore her ring, and that on the rare chance she spoke to you it was of her son, Tristan.

She was proud of her young boy, she had him late in her 40's. Every conversation began with an achievement of his and how handsome he was, after all, he took after the late Mr. Smith whom during his years alive was a no-good cheat with a pretty smile, but in recent years memory served him kindly making him a saint. This was not how Hover Street remembered him, no, the shrieks and turmoil of house 12 had not been forgotten to those who lived there some years ago, but neighbors moved and began anew leaving Mrs. Smith a relic of the past.

In truth, the cookie cutter home before Mrs. Smith's view had new tenants. A family of five. Mr. and Mrs. Darrels, their daughter, Chloe, their son, Jonathan, and their German Shepard, Spot, remarked so for the spot right below his collar. They were an ordinary family of average means, disciplined children, and hard working parents. Nothing raised suspicion nor caused great intrigue other than their daughter, Chloe. She was truly beautiful. She a proper beauty with chestnut brown hair that fell to her shoulder blades, and angled face with emerald eyed, and a slim physique accentuated by carefully chosen clothes. Nothing could be said of her character thus far, she was only known by her comings and goings to and fro the home. Where she went, Mrs. Smith didn't know, nor did Chloe stop long enough to engage in conversation.

This friendly distance kept on for a number of seasons until one Spring day Mrs. Smith had the great misfortune of tumbling down her steps. She'd been remanded to being bed bound and needing the help of her attentive son, Tristan. So, it was decided until her full recovery, Mrs. Smith would have her son live with her and care for her every need.

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Tristan at face value seemed like a model son; kind, attentive, and ambitious. He certainly took after his father with a head of blond hair he kept slicked back. Sharp, intense steely blue eyes laid deep under furrowed brows, and his intense red lips curled themselves into a smile when he was directly addressed. His cheekbones sat high on his face, while a sharp and distinguished jaw wore a five o'clock shadow. His muscular frame was imposing albeit handsome, and often he wore a serious expression on his face that revealed little of his mood. He dressed plainly save for a ring his father gifted him, a gold band with a rotund ruby in the center on his middle finger. Much could not be gathered about the kind of man he was unless he told you.

This new arrangement worked well for Tristan for 12 Hover Street was located in a remote and rather inaccessible town almost bordering the edge of the forest. Questions about the direction of his business in the capital city were not asked as they did not matter, for Tristan, his first and foremost duty was to be a doting son to his ailing mother. Tristan also profited from another fact, which was his mother kept a strict schedule. Bedtime for her was at 8:30 pm sharp, and he was free to come and go as he pleased. The town of Reading had little to offer by way of a social life, and the local spot of amusement happened to be the Bar, Doty's, on Main Street. Friday's after Mrs. Smith had gone to bed, Tristan hoped in his pick up truck and drove to Doty's.

"Hey there! Welcome to Doty's!" A doe eyed waitress named Jane greeted a tall, handsome figure.

"Hello," he politely replied.

"Choose a seat wherever you like, Sir!" her expression was genial and bubbly, Tristan found it loathsome. He sat at the bar and ordered the beer on tap. Something in his chest stirred for mischief, no one here knew him well. A cocky grin grew on his lips as he nursed his beer. The girls were not exceptional but his throbbing cock needed desperate attention. After readjusting the bulge in his pants to hide the tenting, he ordered a second beer, and then a third, followed by a fourth.

"You're knew here, aren't you?" Jane asked. Her black Doty's tee shirt sat tucked into her blue jeans tightly hugging her perky breasts. The first few buttons undone to reveal her cleavage caught his gaze, and he shot her a mischievous smile. He rested his jaw in the crook of his fingers while an insidious thought of her perky, delicious ass bent over the bar with him railing her crept into the stage of his mind's eye.

"No, I'm not. I just left for school and stayed in the city for work. I'm home now to care for my mother. Sandra Smith on Hover Street." He said coolly not breaking eye contact with Jane.

"That's so interesting!" she said searching for words. She felt small under his gaze.

"Is that so?" he asked mockingly.

"It's so good of you to care for Mrs. Smith! I remember you now! You're Tristan! She talks of you all the time!" Jane felt more steady as she found a direction to lead the conversation in.

"A good son becomes a good man," he almost whispered imperceptibly into the bottle.

"Not a lot of those nowadays!" Jane giggled.

"Not a lot of what?" he retorted.

"Good men!" she said aloud.

"And what makes you think I'm a good man?" he winked at her.

"Well, you just said.." she stammered. Her little doe eyes blinked in confusion inciting devious thoughts in Tristan's mind. Those same eyes would look at him from under perfect black lashes as she gagged on his cock with a stuffed mouth and her hands pinned above her beneath his grip. Flashes of her tits bouncing while she bobbed her nose into his lap set him on fire.

"What do I know, haha, I'm drunk," he said flatly.

"How are you getting home?" Jane asked.

"You're driving me," he said with air arrogance.

"How presumptuous of you?!" Jane said out loud, she could not contain her smile.

"Presumptuous.... that's a big word for country folk like you." he teased Jane.

"What would you know about being presumptuous...Jane? Little plain, Jane?" another pointed jab at her.

"I really don't like that tone." she said with her arms crossed across her chest. She leaned on one hip with disappointment. No one had spoken to her like that since before her father passed six years back. She'd grown accustomed to being the most sought after girl in this small town. He gave her one last look up and down, taking in her pouty mouth with her pink puffy lips. A sudden plaintive look grew in Tristan's eyes as though he'd drop to his knees and beg.

"There isn't a plain thing about you, Jane. Therein lies the irony. How can someone so special be given a name that rhymes with plain? A pretty girl needs a pretty name... one her unimaginative parents couldn't give her." He caressed the wound to her ego with slick words.

"What name is that?" she asked suddenly intrigued again.

"My last name," Tristan said with a smile.

"Smith is the most common last name you could find, talk about plain!" Jane laughed. Suddenly, he boomed with laughter. His brassy voice echoed loudly.

"I suppose that's true, you'd be an ordinary Jane Smith. Just hope you're never known as a Jane Doe." something about his laughter became menacing, threatening even.

"Let me take you home, it's awfully late, all kinds of strange men might be lurking." he suggested, the sudden threat of danger had vanished and his eyes became sincere.

"Well, alright," she acquiesced. She had grown attracted to him. A warmth grew in between her legs and she felt the dull ache of a throbbing pussy drench her white lace panties. He was new, exciting, and handsome. The local men seemed drab in comparison. As they walked to his truck the brisk air hardened her nipples and in the periphery of his vision he saw them peak out at him. Once inside the truck, Jane became increasingly aware of just how empty the parking lot was. All the other regulars had gone home already, and it was just her and Tristan sitting in a dimly lit lot. She looked over at Tristan and his blank face. Jane saw the moonlight reflect off his face, there was an intensity she could not gauge.

A rugged and veiny hand reached over to her lap and caressed her thigh. Tristan bit his bottom lip in anticipation and inhaled. Then he locked fingers with hers and brought her hand over to his lap.

"I know you want to," he said his voice husky with lust.

"I... I.... I'm not sure... I just want to go home" Jane said the word home under her breath. she felt the urge to succumb to his presence. She heard the click of the doors lock.

"Come on" a shady smirk revealed his pearly smile as his finger traced along her bottom lip. His touch was warm and firm. He circled his thumb around her mouth until he placed his thumb in her eager mouth to suck. Jane succumbed to the moment, her obedience was intoxicating to Tristan. The bulge in his pants began to stiffen again, and he undid his zipper releasing the growing mast. A large drip of pre-cum collected on his tip glistening over the head of his demanding cock, and Jane looked at it hungrily. She took it in her mouth beginning to lap it up coaxing a load from him. Tristan began to moan softly and gripped the nape of her neck, pushing her to accept more of his cock. Jane used her free hand to grab his shaft and gently squeeze as she bobbed up and down feeling it push deeper into her throat.

"Fill my throat, baby," she begged.

"Ugh, mhhm mmmm.." he shifted underneath her, a thick load building up in his balls. A warmth in his chest radiated down to his palms where he felt a jolt of electricity make him go weak. Jane pushed her nose deeper into his pelvis accommodating his girth and length, loud sounds of slurping and gagging sent Tristan into a frenzy as he bucked his hips to meet her lips. Every gentle suction felt like a sweet hug on his shaft before he lifted her head. She gasped for air and stared at him in shock.

The lust in his eyes became ravenous with his desperate cock turning a shade of red begging for release.

"Spread your legs for me," he commanded. Jane obeyed.

His heavy frame climbed on top of her anxiously spreading her legs farther apart. He used the force of one knee to hold her thigh down as he aligned his bulbous cock head with her sensitive clit. He rubbed up and down gently whispering in her ear, "You look so good pinned down underneath me. I'm going to fill that little pussy up."

The warmth of her pussy was beckoning and inviting to him. Then he sank his cock deeply into her, driving himself into her with growing force. With her arms pinned above her head and his face nuzzled into her neck biting down, each thrust delivered a mix of pain and pleasure that radiated Jane's body. Her eyes glossed over in a daze accepting her fate beneath his weight, wondering what would have happened if she said no. Those thoughts vanished as the strength of her orgasm grew beneath her. The throbbing of his needy cock stretched her walls and she wrapped one leg around his body almost pleading for him to creampie her little eager cunt.

"Fuckkkkkkk..." he moaned as he gave way to his orgasm. Rope after rope of hot cum filled her eager pussy as she shuddered, her body meeting him in response.