Making nice with Sharon's next door neighbor

The woman glares at you, her brown eyes burning into yours, demanding an answer. For a few moments you fumble over what to say. She wouldn’t really call the police on you, would she? Being in someone’s yard uninvited is a crime, you’re sure, but not a terribly serious one. Otherwise, people would get the police called on them every time their feet happened to brush against someone’s grass.

A bit of confidence flows into you like water into a pitcher. Nearby birds continue trilling their morning songs, oblivious to your plight.

“Uh, I’m sorry, miss…” you trail off. When she doesn’t supply her name, you continue. “I was just cutting through your yard because I didn’t want to take the long way around to school. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

You do your level best to look contrite, leveraging your youth to manipulate her.

“Aren’t you a little late to be heading for school? And where’s your bookbag?” Her eyes narrow at you, like she’s inspecting you for even the slightest bit of deceit. She shifts slightly, and your eyes flick to her blue blouse, the top two buttons of which are undone, exposing her generous cleavage. It’s probably only because you’d just had sex with Sharon the night before that you have the willpower not to leer.

“Ah, well.” You fidget slightly, mulling over what to say. Why’s she wasting her time with you? Doesn’t she have a job to show up for? So what if a teenager decided to cut through her yard? Who cares? Ugh, this is so frustrating! You wish she’d just leave you alone. “I, uh, this is kind of embarrassing, but I think I forgot everything in my locker over the weekend. I’ve been looking everywhere for my stuff since early this morning and now I’m in such a rush. That’s why I went through your yard. And again, I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. Please don’t call the cops on me. I’m already in enough trouble as it is.”

A surge of relief courses through you when she nods slightly. You may have actually gotten yourself off the hook. Already your mind is brimming with thoughts of Tiffany coming to pick you up, an annoyed look on her face that will undoubtedly melt into something more pleasing when you start groping her huge tits and her thick thighs. God, you can’t wait to finally fuck her.

Just then, the woman’s eyes go blank. The thermos she’s carrying slips from her fingers. It clatters against the asphalt driveway. The lid bursts open, spilling hot coffee on the driveway. Some of the scalding black liquid splashes against the woman’s pants. She doesn’t react as the boiling beverage makes contact with her. A sudden protective urge seizes you and without thinking you run up to her. You lift up her left pantleg, hissing as your fingers touch a bit of the scalding coffee.

Her soft olive skin is already starting to redden in several places along her calf.

“Shit. What the fuck, Charles?” You blurt aloud, your eyes wide. Your heart thuds heavily against your chest.

This isn’t how the daily hypnotic trances are supposed to work. Mothers shouldn’t be able to fall into trances when it poses a danger to them!

You take a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself. The woman’s been burned and she needs help. She's still entranced and can’t take care of it herself, so the responsibility falls to you. You remember that one of the best things to do for a burn is to immediately immerse it in cold water.

Her glazed eyes grow slightly wet, and you wonder if on some level she can feel the pain.

“Can you hear me?”

She nods. Her eyes stare past you blankly. “Yes.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Kira Azar,” she replies flatly.

You manage a weak smile.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” you mutter. You set your jaw. “Okay, Kira. You’re going to go back in your house and run a stream of cold water over the burned area on your left leg and hold it there for a few minutes. It’s very important that you do this right now. Go.”

Her face scrunches up unpleasantly as she begins walking towards her house. You follow her, your eyes falling to her round bubble butt. The black pants she’s wearing are a little tight on her; they conform almost perfectly to her appetizing shape.

She reaches into her pocketbook and pulls out a keyring upon which at least a dozen individual keys are fastened. Some are silverish while others are faded brass. They jangle as she robotically chooses a key and inserts it into the lock on her front door. She twists and then grabs the door handle and presses the small lever above it with her thumb.

You follow her inside, taking note of your surroundings. The entrance hallway is lit only by the morning sunlight streaming through the windows and spilling through the doorframe door frame. Various framed pictures line the walls of the hallway. You see Kira in most of the pictures with a dark-haired man with olive skin and friendly green eyes – her husband, perhaps? She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring – and a black-haired girl who appears to be about your age would seem to be her daughter.

The sound of rushing water draws your attention to the nearby kitchen, which the entrance hall opens up into. White tile lines the floor. Kira stands in front of the kitchen sink. Glassy-eyed, she lifts her leg, resting her heeled left foot on the counter.

“Wait,” you blurt out.

She stills instantly, staring ahead blankly. You approach her, stopping when you’re inches away from her.

“Take off your heels and your pants. It’ll be easier to run water over the burn that way.”

She nods wordlessly, takes her leg off the counter, and begins unbuckling her belt. Unbuttoning her pants, she begins sliding them down, bending over as she does so and treating you with a view of her juicy rear. Her toned thighs soon come into view. She’s wearing purple panties that only just cover her asscrack.

Her shoes come off next. She sets them down haphazardly on the tile before lifting her leg again and putting her calf under the faucet as it spurts cool water pattering against the metal sink basin.

“Good, keep the burns under the water. Does it hurt at all?”

“It hurts,” she replies flatly, not even looking at you.

“As you listen to my voice, you can feel your pain growing less and less severe.”

“Less and less severe…” she trails off, her mouth drooping open slightly.

A smile comes to your lips. This is nice. It’s like you’re in your element. Jared rudely interrupting your time with Sharon is starting to fade into the back of your mind as you get back into the swing of things, excitement building inside you.

“When you come out of your current hypnotic trance, you’re going to remember accidentally dropping your coffee and burning yourself. You’re also going to remember having some difficulty walking because of the pain and me helping you inside. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“You’re not going to remember falling into a trance outside today. You had one earlier shortly after you woke up and continued about your day. Isn’t that right?” You say.

“Yes,” she says. “I fell into a trance around the time I woke up and then went about my morning routine.”

“Exactly right, Kira. And by the way, since I’ve helped you, it’s perfectly normal for me to be in your house, isn’t it?” You say.

She stares ahead blankly as cold water runs across her burned skin.

“Perfectly normal,” she nods.

“It’s so normal that you think I should be able to come and visit whenever I want.”

Her brow furrows.

“I…”

“You love listening to my voice. Hearing my voice makes your pain feel less and less severe.”

“Less and less severe,” she nods readily.

“And my voice making your pain feel less severe is just another way of saying that hearing my voice makes you feel better, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. I feel better,” her lips curve slightly upward.

“You feel better whenever you hear my voice. You feel relaxed and soothed and pain-free. Like everything’s going to be all right.”

“When I hear your voice, I can’t help but feel like everything’s going to be all right,” she whispers, letting out a relieved sigh.

You smile.

“Whenever you fall into a trance, you’re going to want to hear my voice, won’t you?”

“I will.” A slight nod.

You give her your phone number and have her repeat it a few times to ensure she memorizes it.

“When you fall into your daily trances, you’ll call my number so you can hear my voice. If there’s anyone nearby, you’ll pretend like you aren’t hypnotized and politely excuse yourself and find a private place and then call my number. If someone walks in on you while you’re talking to me, you’ll politely ask them to leave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And when you wake up from this particular trance, you’ll be very grateful that I came to your rescue, won’t you?”

“Grateful… yes,” she murmurs.

“You’ll be so grateful to me that you’ll happily overlook me checking you out. I’ve been such a help and my voice makes you feel so much better that allowing me to look at your body that way is the least you can do.”

She lets out a soft moan.

“I don’t know…” she whispers.

“It’s the least you can do, Kira.”

She swallows.

“It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude.”

“And showing your gratitude to me feels good, doesn’t it?” You add, anticipation filling you.

“It does,” she replies.

“You’ll forget all about me passing through your yard without permission.”

“I’ll forget about you going through my yard without permission.”

Just then, life returns to her eyes. She looks over at you and smiles, her brown eyes radiating warmth. Your heart does somersaults in your chest.

“Thank you so much for your help. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there when I spilled my coffee all over my leg,” she says. She looks down at her leg again, still under the running faucet. “Oh, that’s cold.”

She slowly removes her leg and lifts the lever up, shutting off the faucet. A few droplets of water linger along the head of the faucet.

The two of you look at her leg. Small blotches of skin along her calf are slightly red, but the burns don’t look severe at all. Not like the one time you’d burned the underside of your arm when you’d grazed against a metal tray fresh from the oven when you’d decided to bake cookies one time. That had been embarrassing, not to mention incredibly painful.

“Looks good,” you say. “You might want to put some Neosporin on it or something just to be safe.”

She nods.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” she stares at you for a moment and then looks down at herself and blushes, probably only now realizing that you have a full view of her panties. You can glimpse a faint outline of cameltoe. “Oh, I just realized I never got your name.”

“I’m John. John Doe,” you say.

She beams at you, a significant reversal from her earlier suspicion and hostility.

“I’m Kira,” she shifts slightly, causing her large breasts to jiggle underneath her blouse and jacket. “Um, it’s nice to meet you. And thanks again, for helping me.”

You wave her off.

“Ah, don’t mention it. Anyone would have done the same in my position,” your eyes flick down towards her bare, toned legs for a few moments. Kira raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t attempt to distance herself from you or put her pants back on.

“Maybe. Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t find some way to repay you,” she says, her eyes narrowing in thought. Then she turns and reaches for her pocketbook, her ass jiggling as she moves. She searches through her pocketbook for a few moments before producing a small white paper card. She holds it out for you to take. “Here, take my card. I’m a lawyer. If you ever find yourself in need of representation or if you have any legal questions, don’t hesitate to call me. Actually, let me give you my private cell so you can reach me at any time.”

She puts the card on the marble counter and reaches into her pocketbook again, withdrawing a black pen. She scribbles something on the card before handing it to you.

You take the card. The words “Kira T. Azar, Associate” are proudly emblazoned on the top middle of the card. Above her name, scribbled in black ink is a phone number, undoubtedly Kira’s. Another phone number with an extension is listed on the bottom right of the card. Listed on the bottom left of the card are the words “Applebaum, Keller, and Gallo, LLP.” Her law firm?

You smirk.

Having a lawyer in your pocket could come in handy, to say nothing of yet another achingly hot MILF at your beck and call. To think, you’d been so worried she’d been able to call the cops on you. Now she’s handing you her business card and giving you her cell phone number, unknowingly making it easier for you to influence her in the future. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

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