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 Rescuing the Girl Next Door
   Synopsis
   John steps in to prevent a mother continuing to thrash her daughter and
then takes the girl home to look after her.
   Rescuing the Girl Next Door
   by obohobo
   Warnings
   Please take note!
   The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written
for adults only.
   Mg NC.  Spanking
   If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this
file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this
file-story now.
   This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or
otherwise is purely coincidental.  The ideas and thoughts that follow are
pure fantasies.  In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant
and probably illegal.  Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can
contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the
pain, despair or humiliation.
   (c) obohobo 2008
   WHACK!  Aaahh!!  WHACK!  Assshh!  !  No more mother, please!  WHACK! 
Yaaah!  Stop!!  You're killing me!!  WHACK!  Aaahhhhh!  I'm not a whore! 
Let me go!!
   In the quietness of an early Saturday morning in June, the noise coming
from my neighbour's kitchen sounded loudly through the shared wall of the
semi-detached house.  The teenaged girl was receiving another beating from
her self-righteous, bully of a mother, the third beating I'd heard in the
six months they'd lived next door and it sounded by far the worst.  I'd no
idea how many other times the mother had thrashed the girl but this time I
resolved to intervene.
   Apart from actually having been born in the local hospital and going
away for holidays, I'd lived all 26 years of my life in the house my
parents bought new about twenty years before.  Officially it was a two
bedroomed house and my sister Karen, older than me by ten years, had the
second, smaller, bedroom upstairs.  When I became old enough to need a
bedroom of my own, father converted the small downstairs dining area for me
but I still had to trek upstairs to the bathroom and toilet.  When Karen,
married and moved to another part of the country when she was twenty-one, I
took over her bedroom and Dad knocked the wall down between my old bedroom
and the kitchen to give mother more space for cooking.  Unfortunately, that
was one of the last jobs he did on the house; he suffered a heart attack
soon after and died at work.
   Mum and I continued to live there on our own while I went through the
local college and university and obtained a degree in Chemistry.  I now
have the official title of Dr.  John Barlow, although to most people I am
just 'John'.  During that time Mum became increasingly infirm and had great
difficulty in climbing the stairs to the toilet and when it got to the
stage that she had to have a commode downstairs and use a small bed in the
lounge, Karen offered to let her live with them in their bungalow.
   It didn't take long for me to become adept at living alone, partly
because I'd honed my cooking and domestic skills while looking after
mother, and when she left I converted the small bedroom into a computer
study room and slept in the main bedroom.  During this time, I had several
girlfriends but no relationship lasted for more than a month or two.  The
usual reason or excuse for them ending was that I wasn't a social person
and didn't go out much and when I did, I found the noise and smoke of the
pubs and clubs too much of a distraction and, not being a night-owl person,
wanted to return home earlier than they would have liked.
   My qualifications allowed me to teach chemistry and maths at school and
college level but there was no post available locally and, not wanting to
give up my independence and the house, I took a lesser-paid job as a
technician in the college I'd attended earlier.  Less money, but less
hassle, and always an 8:30 - 4:30 job with no evening meetings, no parents
to deal with, and no reports to fill in.  It suited me.
   Until nearly a year ago, Mrs.  Williams lived next door.  Like my
parents, she and her husband bought the house from new and she continued to
live there when he died.  I always got on well with the old lady and after
she became a widow, did jobs around the house and, until I went to
university, kept the garden more or less under control but when, with my
coursework, I hadn't the time, she got a local gardener to come in
regularly.
   I disliked Mrs.  Emerson our new neighbour almost from her arrival.  A
tall, buxom woman, with a sharp tongue and a short temper, she sort to
treat me like I was a cheap dogsbody.  A week after moving in she came to
my door to demand I repaired the chain-link fence between our properties.
Had she asked I might have done it or at least helped, but no, she tried to
make out it was my job and my fault the repairs were needed.  Pointing out
that as the fence posts were on her side of the fence, it was her
responsibility to see to the repairs.  I told her to get a fencing firm to
fix the fence.  The repairs have never been done.
   Her sixteen-year-old daughter, Theresa, or Terri as she liked to be
called, was quite different.  A little over 5 feet tall, fairly slim with
short dark hair and, although she always dressed plainly and wore no
make-up or jewellery, I thought she was attractive.  At least she was
polite, friendly and well spoken when we were both in the garden and I
managed to have a few words with her out of earshot and sight of her
mother.
   Long ago dad installed a gate between our two back gardens so we could
get from one house to the other easily.  It was through this gate I hurried
to see what I could do to stop the beating.
   The scene revealed when I peered though the kitchen window could have
been erotic in the right circumstances but it actually revolted me and
added fuel to my anger.  Naked and held struggling and howling on the
kitchen table by her powerful, belt wielding mother, Terry screamed with
the agony of each blow.  Her bottom and thighs were already blistered and
bruised and there appeared no sign that her mother was ready to let up.  I
tried the door; locked.  I tapped the window.  Mrs.  Emerson looked up and
momentarily lost her grip on Terri whose writhing caused her to fall to the
floor and curl into a protective ball.  Fixing me with a glare that should
have withered my resolve, her mother continued to lash the belt on any part
of her daughter's body that presented itself and I knew I had to do
something quickly.  Pressing my mobile phone to the window, I took a
picture of the scene hoping and praying the flash would distract the woman.
It did.  At least she stopped and came towards the kitchen door.  I started
to dial 999 but only got the first two digits when the door opened and I
faced the angry woman.  She still held the belt and raised it
threateningly. "What did you want to poke your nose in for?  I'm just
giving the slut what she wants, what she needs."
   "She needs to be taken away to somewhere safe, somewhere where she won't
be hurt, somewhere where she will be cared for and get treated for the pain
she is in," I interrupted, trying to push my way inside.  There was no way
my relatively small body would get passed her but it wasn't necessary.  To
my amazement she stood aside.
   "You want to care for her, you take her and find out for yourself what
she's like.  Find out for yourself what the cunning little bitch really
wants and asked for.  There's no place for a slut like her in this house.
You want a whore, you take her."
   Carefully I helped the screaming, crying girl to her feet, wrapped the
robe that had fallen to the floor around her battered body, and half
carried her to my house.  At this stage I am not sure if she realised much
of what was happening.  Although her screaming abated a little, her body
shook with pain and I guessed she feared what I might do.  For several
minutes I held her close, hoping to gain her trust and to show I was ready
to protect her but I doubted that trust would come easily or quickly.  We
were still embraced when the door opened and her mother threw in a plastic
carrier bag of books.  Several fell out and slid across the floor; they
were all bondage and slavery paperbacks.  "That's what the slut wants to
be! A sex slave!  God help her.  I've tried to raise her decently and then
find she's into this smut," the woman yelled as she closed the door and
left.
   "It's...  not...what...  it looks...like...John," she stammered through
her sobs, "I..."
   "Hush Terri, we can talk later but for now we must try to ease your
pain. Do you want me to take you to the hospital or get the police?  It's
assault, even though your mother did it."
   "No...  she is my mother...I'll get sent to a home...I'll have to go
to...court...I don't..."
   "Okay, I'll go with it for now, at least until I see how serious your
injuries are.  You'll have to trust me and co-operate with what I need to
do to help you.  Terry, I'm going to take you upstairs into the bathroom to
bathe your welts and to find some painkillers.  I will be removing your
dressing gown but I won't interfere with you otherwise.  Understand?" A
slow nod but I could see the confusion in her eyes as she realised she'd be
naked with a man only ten years older than herself; a man whose erection
was pressing against her thigh albeit, it was hidden by his shorts.  Maybe
she was even worried about her virginity but I've no doubt the pain she was
in, blocked out most other thoughts.
   The welting was horrific and in my anger at her treatment, I almost
reneged on my agreement not to call the police or take her to the hospital,
but I didn't.  Selfish reasons lurking in the back of my mind came to the
fore.  I liked the idea of having the young girl with me, I liked being the
Good Samaritan, the knight in shining armour rescuing the damsel in
distress and maybe, just maybe, I would be able to get her into bed and
willingly have sex with me.  Perhaps she would be a sex slave like her
mother said.
   Half an hour later, I helped her from the bath and gently dried her with
the softest towel I had.  She'd quietened down considerably but I knew she
was still in a great deal of pain even after the pain killers had started
to take effect, and I also knew she worried over my hard prick that still
tented my shorts.  I couldn't control it, not when I had an attractive,
naked girl before me.  It didn't help that I'd removed my shirt when I
bathed her, so apart from my shorts and slippers, I was near naked too.  I
tried, I really did, to be chaste in my washing and drying of her but I
know I spent more time than necessary on her pert breasts and genitals but
I certainly didn't neglect her blisters either even though the gentlest of
touches caused her further pain.
   During the time in the bathroom, our conversation was restricted to
monosyllabic instructions and answers but before entering my bedroom she
hesitantly asked, "John?  Are you going to...have sex with me?" The last
part came out in a hurry.
   "Not until you're healed and then only if you want to." That seemed to
satisfy her and she laid herself face down on my bed and allowed me to
smear Nivea cream, the only cream I had, on her welts.
   A fresh outburst of crying stopped me from leaving her and letting her
rest.  "What is going to happen to me now?" Will I be sent away?  Sent back
to mother?  I found those books you know, I didn't buy them."
   "I know you didn't.  From the colour of the paper, they are old and have
been well used.  We'll worry about the books some other time but the
question of what will happen to you is one I cannot answer at the moment.
Too much depends on your mother and whether or not she wants you to
return..."
   "I'm not going back!"
   "I understand that and you are old enough, just, to be able to decide
that for yourself.  If she tries to make you return, then I have the photos
on my mobile to show what she did."
   "You took more?"
   "Just before I put the cream on.  I doubt she will insist because I
suspect that when she calms down, she'll realise she could be put away for
abuse.  We will have to go back to get your stuff, if you decide to stay
here, however long that may be.  It will take a while for you to heal and
to walk normally and certainly you won't be going to school on Monday."
   "I finished High School yesterday and am going to college in September.
You won't mind my staying?"
   That was a stupid question.  How would I miss a chance to have a young
girl in bed with me?  "Of course not Terri, at least until you recover and
can think clearly enough to make up your own mind."
   "Will I have too...?"
   I knew sex was on her mind and I doubted she'd had any previous
experience but I didn't want to mislead her into thinking she could stay
without my putting a move on her.  "Terri, I have only the one bedroom in
use and one bed, the double bed you are lying on.  I don't intend to sleep
on cushions on the floor or the couch and you are not in a fit state to do
so.  Tonight, and while you are here we'll sleep together but until you are
healed, I will not attempt to have sex with you although, like now, I will
probably get aroused by your being alongside me." She glanced at my crotch
and blushed.  "Even when you are healed I won't force you but I will try
and seduce you.  It will be up to you whether or not we fuck." I
deliberately used the F word.  Again she blushed but just acknowledged my
remark with a nod.
   *******
   That night as I lay naked alongside her, she began to talk more freely
than she had all day, perhaps the semi-darkness of the room helped by
giving us a modicum of anonymity and the fierce pain had eased to a dull
ache.  She'd lain quietly on the bed all morning hardly daring to move and
I know she dozed a little, probably from the after effects of her ordeal
and from the prescription painkillers I'd had over from an injury a year
ago.  Mid morning I saw her mother leave in her car and didn't return until
we were abed and I wondered if she was trying to keep out of our way.  At
lunchtime I woke Terri and insisted she get up and move some of her muscles
even though it pained her to do so.  Lunch was eaten standing and
afterwards she laid on the couch to watch TV dressed only in her robe and
an old pair of moccasins that I'd put some foam in to make them small
enough for her feet.  At dinnertime I again made her get up and walk around
and, thinking that it would make her feel part of the 'family' as well as
distracting her from the pain, I suggested she help me cook the meal.  It
was again back to the couch and the TV for most of the evening, although I
doubt she actually saw the programmes.  Gradually I learned a little more
about her, how she did at school, what friends she had and some of her
interests out of school but nothing about the incident that caused her
mother to beat her so badly.  I didn't question her but bided my time until
she was ready.  In bed facing me and with only the dim light of the street
lamp coming though the curtains, the time seemed right and she opened her
soul to me.  Tears began to flow again and I longed to hold her close but
didn't dare because my erection pressing against her stomach might spook
her.  She knew about it as we had showered together before bed and she'd
had a good look at my prick but never touched it.  Later she admitted that
she thought it was enormous but it is pretty much the standard 6 inches,
neither small nor porn star in size.
   "I did find those books John," she reiterated what she'd told me
earlier, "I found a box of them in the hedge along the field path from
school.  I knew such books existed from stories at school and I even got a
glimpse of one a boy dropped but he quickly picked it up and I only saw the
cover.  I'd never had one in my hands or read one so I was somewhat excited
and curious about those I found and hid three of them in my backpack.  The
others I hid more securely in the hedge.  I knew mother would have a fit if
she found them and I hid them under the bottom drawer of my tallboy and
that night I snuggled under the bedclothes and read them by torchlight."
   "And they made you horny?"
   "You'll think I really am a slut if I say yes...  but they did, in fact
I could hardly stop reading them.  They were all about slavery and bondage
and in a way I could see myself in some of the characters.  I was almost a
slave to a mother who punishes me for the least wrong, pretending that it
was God's will that I should suffer for my sins.  The words got me really
wet and I had to play with myself until I'd climaxed several times.  Over
the next few days I smuggled the rest of the books into my room and avidly
read them.  I knew it was sinful, I knew it was wrong and that mother would
spank me if I was caught so I was really careful but I couldn't resist the
temptation of the pleasurable feelings the words brought in my body."
   "And played with yourself and imagined you were in the stories each
time?" I saw her nod as if ashamed to admit it but I supposed our situation
was akin to those in the books and it was almost as if she were forced into
telling me the truth.  "This morning you got caught?"
   "Yes.  Mother never gets up early on a Saturday so I think she found the
books last Thursday while I was at school because they weren't quite as I
left them.  She must have waited until today when she knew I wouldn't have
to go to school for a while.  This morning I got up and went to the
bathroom and when I got back to my room, I took my nightdress off and
started to read and play with myself.  The morning was bright so there was
plenty of light to read by but as the air was a bit chilly I put my robe on
and left the front completely undone.  Next thing I knew the door flew open
and in stormed mother with the belt already in her hand.  I tried to escape
but only got as far as the kitchen before she grabbed me and flung me over
the table and started to flay my bottom until you came." She paused before
continuing, "Do you think I'm a slut?  What will happen now?"
   "No, you're not a slut, just a normal girl with normal sexual feelings,
feelings your mother has tried to suppress and make you feel guilty about.
I would guess that most girls fantasise about being held captive and forced
to please a master but I doubt many would hold to those fantasies if they
were whipped and raped in actual reality.  Some go part way and play at
bondage with mild spanking and such to liven up the sex lives but few go
beyond that.  So no, you're not a slut, just a normal sexy girl." Despite
my misgivings about her feeling my prick against her body, I pulled her
into a close hug and kissing her before releasing my grasp and trying to
answer the other question.  Since she'd asked it earlier, I'd had time to
think of a possible plan.
   "What happens now depends to some extent on your mother and on you.  You
hold the trump card.  With the marks on your body and the evidence we have,
you can force your mother to agree to anything in order to save her from
going to prison.  However, you may not wish the scandal and trauma of a
court hearing so it will probably be better if you hold that card unless
you are forced to play it.  You largely have the choice of what to do next.
You could return home, if your mother would even have you back, but you've
already said you don't wish that.  As far as I am concerned, you are
welcome to stay here and I've told you what that might mean, or you could
take the abuse route and get yourself put into care or maybe at your age,
they might let you live in a refuge on your own.  Those choices are yours,
at least that's how I see them." She expressed the desire to stay with me
so I went on, "What I suggest we do next is, in the morning we to go to
your home and collect your belongings.  I'll go with you and if necessary
we'll have to use the threat of our trump card to get in.  I'll need to do
some clearing here so you've somewhere to store your stuff until you
finally decide whether or not to stay.  It's far too early in a
relationship to say it is going to be permanent but if we live together for
a few weeks or months, then we'll know better providing we take precautions
so that you do not become pregnant."
   "I'm not on the pill...Mother wouldn't..."
   "I have condoms and can buy more on Monday but getting you on the pill
would be a better long term option unless there are problems for you.  I
earn enough to keep us if we're not extravagant, but we may have to try and
supplement our income in order to pay for college." We discussed the issues
pretty rationally until late and we drifted off into a disturbed sleep. 
Terri several times involuntarily rolled on to her back and woke up crying
out with the pain and I had to apply more cream and in the early hours,
gave her more painkillers but, after another soak in the bath next morning,
she seemed much improved at least until she had to move.
   As a result of our discussions the previous night, I typed a note and
popped it though our neighbour's letterbox stating that we would call round
after she returned from church to pick up Terri's clothing and stuff and
ended with, 'Should our entry be barred or any attempt at further physical
violence made or her things destroyed, we shall ask the police to
intervene'.  Fortunately that didn't prove necessary although her mother
stood silently with arms folded and glared at our every move.  Of course I
had to do most of the work because Terri still couldn't walk easily or
carry anything heavy.  Her mother looked anxious but didn't show any pity
for her daughter's pain and I'm sure that in her own mind, she thought she
had done the right thing by thrashing her daughter for being so wicked. 
Indeed, as we left for the last time, with venom in her voice she spat,
"Keep the whore, that's all she's fit for.  There's no place in a
God-fearing house for the likes of her!"
   ******
   We've been together a month now and more or less learned to live
together harmoniously.  Terri's bruises have all but disappeared and she
can walk and run normally.  For our first two nights, we just slept close
together and it was only on the third night that she was sufficiently free
of pain to start sexually exploring each other but it was almost a week
before we fucked and that opened the tide gates and most nights, and some
days, we've made passionate love and tried many positions, including some
gleaned from the slavery books but we've not done anything to hurt each
other.  However a week ago we started to read them to each other and found
it increased our libido and the intensity of our lovemaking.
   We see her mother quite often in the garden or getting into her car but
she always ignores us and we do not speak.  Even the priest in charge of
her church could not reconcile her and Terri and, although he spent several
hours trying to persuade Terri to return to the church and find a place
where she could live 'without sin', he failed to do so.  Our love had grown
strong enough to prevent him breaking the bond.
   What will happen in the future?  I have no illusions that things might
change when she goes to college or university and meets other young people
and other young men, but at the moment, our lives are tightly interlinked
and I hope they will remain that way.
   Finis
   
  
Girl next door