(c) Copyright Henrik Larsen 2001



Comments are very welcome. You can reach me either through assd or by e-mail at henlar@hotmail.com.


This story contains elements of explicit sexual nature. 

If, for some reason, you feel offended by erotic stories, then I don't know why you have opened this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this. If that's the case, my advice is to seek professional help. You need it. If you are not allowed to read stories like this, I will not be held responsible, if you choose to continue. But don't worry; it's all fantasy.

A great thanks to Old Rotorhead and Cagey. I'm very grateful for their patient work, correcting and editing my stories, and their constant encouragement.

Reposting or any other use of this story is strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the author.


The Neighbour's daughter. Chapter 10.

The first three weeks, while Sophie was on vacation with her parents, weren't that bad. I missed her, of course I did, but it was nothing like the feeling I had when she returned. Knowing that she was so near, just on the other side of the wall, made it almost unbearable to be without her. I spent hours trying to figure out a way for us to see each other. I considered offering my assistance in helping her with her homework, but she was bright and didn't really need help. I even considered sending a couple of theatre-tickets to her parents, anonymously of course, to get them out of the house, but there were too many stories around about people doing that, and then robbing the victims house or flat while they were away. Sophie's parents would never buy it.

Every idea I came up with had a major flaw and would never work, so I gave up. Instead, I began to think about why Sophie's parents acted the way they did, and kept Sophie away from the rest of the world, generally treating her like she was a small child. 

My first thought was that her parents were members of some religious sect. Back in the sixth grade, we had a boy in my class whose parents were Jehovah's Witnesses. He wasn't allowed to have any contact with other children and he dressed weirdly. He didn't say much and in the beginning he was bullied a lot, because he was different. It wasn't until our teacher told us why he was different that it stopped. I think we all felt ashamed and I remember that I felt really sorry for him. It didn't change much, though. He was still isolated and very quiet. He apparently accepted his fate, but he never appeared to be happy. I can't recall him laughing or smiling.

Sophie had never talked about anything religious. I asked Mrs Larsen and she was sure that they only visited a church in connection with baptism, marriage or death. Somehow, it didn't seem likely that religion would be the cause of their strange behaviour. But then what? What else could make people act that way?

It could be something in her parent's upbringing which they just passed on. That was a plausible explanation, even though every other part of their life was fairly normal. Both her parents dressed normally. They had a car and a TV; everything a normal family would have. Could it be that they were in touch with everything else in modern life, except how to bring up a child? I couldn't come up with a better explanation, but I still wasn't sure it was the right one. 

On top of all my thoughts and worries about Sophie and our relationship, came Mrs Larsen's situation. She wasn't doing any better and although she was still mentally healthy - no signs of senility and only marginal troubles with her memory - she was physically very weak now, and it was difficult for her to move around in her flat. Her eyesight was deteriorating as well and she could no longer watch TV. It had never been that important for Mrs Larsen, she preferred reading or listening to the radio, but the fact that she couldn't watch the few things she liked to watch on TV reminded her of her age and condition. 

She had a lady to do the cleaning a couple of times a week, but nothing else. I didn't really know if it was because she turned down any other offers from the council or because they didn't offer her anything. I didn't mind doing her shopping and cooking; I had to shop anyway - still no freezer - and it was better to eat with her than eat alone. She did say that she could hire somebody to do the shopping and cooking, but I always told her I didn't mind. She also offered me money, but I turned that down as well. I knew that she had a fair pension from her late husband, but I didn't think it could be very much. Besides, she always insisted on paying for the food and wine, so I ate a lot of free meals. 

She should have used the walker or a wheelchair, but her home wasn't designed for it. There were small rugs everywhere, which needed to be removed and the doorsteps would have to go, too. The worst thing was that the doors were too narrow for a wheelchair to be able to get in and out. All in all, it would have been best for her to move, preferably to a place where she could be looked after. The only problem was that she refused to move. She wanted to die where she was born and "With a little luck, it will happen soon." Those were her words and she meant it. It was a difficult to understand for a young man like me, but I accepted it. 

The weeks passed and I saw Sophie on the stairs once or twice a week. We said hello, politely, but generally we acted as if we hardly knew each other. Sophie was good at keeping up appearances, almost too good. I began to suspect that she didn't miss me very much. After all, she had Nina. I was jealous, I guess. Deep down inside, I knew she had to act as if we were just neighbours, but I was hoping for some sign that she missed me as much as I missed her.

Jealousy is an awful thing, because it just grows inside you and the more you try to push it aside and tell yourself that you are imagining things, the more you find that seems to confirm your worst fears. Little details, nothing that would normally bother you, but suddenly they grow into something close to the ultimate proof of infidelity. It's horrible. I've never considered myself a jealous type, but for a couple of weeks, it was eating me up.

Then I meet Nina in the supermarket one day. When I saw her, I was in no mood to talk to her, being convinced that she had "stolen" Sophie from me, but my good upbringing forced me to do the polite thing; to stop to talk. It was a wise decision. 

"Hello, Nina. How're things going?" I asked. 

I may have sounded less than enthusiastic, but I tried my best. 

"OK," Nina answered. "Sophie misses you terribly."

She didn't sound as if everything was all right.

"She has you, hasn't she?"

"Sure," Nina shrugged, "but I'm not you and . . . We can be together and all, but it's not the same. She misses you."

I felt relieved. I also felt very sorry for Sophie. It wasn't until later that I realised why Nina was down. I guess we all had lost something, but I'm not sure any of us were able to see clearly enough to acknowledge more than our own losses. 

"Tell her I miss her very much, too. I hope that we'll get a chance to be together soon."

"So do I. She really needs cheering up," Nina said. 

- - -

Talking to Nina put a lid on my jealousy, but it didn't make me any happier. I knew that Sophie was feeling as low as I was, but it was hardly any consolation. I lay at night and wondered what would happen if I knocked on the wall. Would Sophie know it was me? Could we signal each other like isolated prisoners? I seriously considered drilling a hole in the wall. I didn't, because I remembered Sophie's room as very clean and even if I would be able to stay clear of her drawer and wardrobe, the dust would be spotted immediately. Another great idea down the drain.

Life dragged on for a month after Sophie had returned, before anything happened. It was so obvious and it had been staring me in the face all the time. I could have kicked myself that Saturday morning, when I finally realised that we would have been able to meet all the time.

I was up a little late that day and I'd just got out of the shower, when I heard Sophie's front door open and her parents talking. I looked out through the door spy to catch a glimpse of Sophie and I was lucky: she walked past my door just as I looked, and I saw she was carrying a heavy, open bag, full of books. Library books! I rushed to the bedroom to put on some clothes, skipped breakfast and hurried down to the library. 

It took a while to locate Sophie. The library had been expanded a few years back. It consisted of two buildings, the old and the new. The new building contained the children's section, reading room and a multimedia section. The rest was still in the old building. I found Sophie in the old building, kneeling between two tall shelves. She didn't notice me until knelt down next to her. 

"Eric!"

It sounded so loud in the silence of the library and scared her a little.

"Eric," she repeated, this time whispering. "What are you . . . How did you . . .Oh, I've missed you so much."

She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me really tight. We were still kneeling and I could feel my balance slip. It's incredible how many terrible thoughts that are able to pass through your head in a fraction of a second. As we fell towards the shelves, I imagined how they would fall like dominoes. It didn't happen, of course. Sophie seemed completely oblivious to our position and squeezed me tightly for a long time. 

When she finally let go and looked at me, there were tears in her eyes. She tried to speak but nothing came out. We got up, only to embrace each other again. I didn't know what to say, or perhaps I was afraid that my voice would fail me, too. It took a couple of minutes, before we were ready to talk.

"You don't know how much I've missed you," I finally said. 

"Not as much as I have missed you," Sophie said, laughing through her tears. 

We didn't have time to argue about it. An elderly man passed our row and looked disapprovingly at us. We held back for a few seconds after he had passed, before we started laughing as quietly as possible. 

It was so wonderful to talk again. We almost forgot the time and place and it was sheer luck the Sophie took a look at her watch just in time for her to get out in front of the library, before her parents came to pick her up. We hastily agreed to meet in the library next Saturday.  

Just talking was fine, and I realised that being close and talking was what I'd missed the most. It wasn't until Sunday that I began thinking about a way to meet with Sophie in a place where we could be more intimate, but it still wasn't an urgent need for me. 

The following Saturdays, I went to the library early and waited for Sophie to arrive. In trying to work out a way for us to meet privately, I reasoned that we would normally have an hour and a half before Sophie's parents picked her up again. Walking back to my place took around twenty minutes, twenty more to get back. We would have to leave at least ten minutes slack to be sure to make it in time and Sophie would need some time to get books at the library. With a little luck, we would have half an hour and there was still the risk that Sophie's parents would go home first and unload some of the things they had bought, seeing us on the way. It was simply not worth running the risk. 

We stayed in the most deserted part of the old building and we were able to kiss and touch a little, but always at the risk of being disturbed. In the beginning we were very cautious, only kissing and discretely touching each other through out clothes, but after a couple of weeks, we became more daring. 

We had found a shielded spot where they had put in a couple of extra shelves, creating something best described as a labyrinth. We would be able to hear if anyone was coming, but in the worst case only a few seconds in advance. Still, it was better than an open row and we could do a little more.

The fourth Saturday, we both wore loose clothing. Once we were inside the labyrinth, we embraced and our hands began to explore each other while we talked, but after a few minutes we could no longer concentrate on even the simplest conversation. After fifteen minutes, we realised that it was a very bad idea, but it was already too late to stop. We got more and more worked up and after half an hour, we were almost ready to rip our clothes off and make love on the floor. 

I was standing behind Sophie with one hand under her shirt. Her bra had been pushed up and I caressed her breasts and nipples. My other hand was inside her skirt and panties. Sophie was breathing hard and her pussy was sopping wet. She had one hand behind her, reaching down into my loose trousers and jocks, slowly caressing my cock. 

Sophie tried to spread her legs more, to give me better access, but the result was that her panties tightened and made it difficult for me to move my hands and fingers. 

"Sophie, take off your panties," I whispered into her ear.

She didn't hesitate, but eagerly bent down and took them off. Sophie was beyond herself with excitement and forgot all about me and my cock, which was actually a relief for me at that point, because I was worried that I'd make a big, wet spot in my trousers. That fear distracted me to a point where I no longer could enjoy Sophie's reactions to my touches.   

Sophie began to whimper louder and I had to hush her. The spot we had chosen was secluded but only protected against prying eyes; it wasn't soundproof. It was hard for her to keep quiet and when I hushed her the third time, she took her panties, which had been holding in her hand, and stuffed them into her mouth. 

I'm sure Sophie would have given us away if she hadn't gagged herself. The muffled whimpers and cries were loud enough even with the gag. It was risky but there was no turning back. Sophie was getting very close to coming and I was so much into it that I simply didn't want to stop. I don't know if I'd have heard anyone approaching us. I was just so caught up in Sophie's excitement, caressing her tits and pussy. 

She came like fireworks: A big explosion that cascaded into several smaller explosions. I know that an orgasm only last perhaps twenty seconds, but we were in a completely silent library, and it felt like it lasted for several minutes. I was sure everybody could hear what was going on. Sophie's body trembled and jerked in my arms and she bit down hard into her panties, trying to be as silent as possible. Finally, she collapsed and leaned back against me, very relaxed and completely confident that I could hold her up. Her legs were like jelly and I had to hold her weight for at least a minute, before she began to regain some of her strength.

Apparently nobody heard us. We stood and listened in the silence for a minute, but we were alone. 

"Oh God, Eric. That was so wonderful," Sophie whispered. "I really want to feel you inside me."

"So would I, but it's too risky and I haven't got any condoms," I whispered back.

Sophie was working her warm, smooth hands into my jocks again and smiled up at me. 

"I want you to make you come, too," she said. 

"You better not. I don't want to go home with a big wet spot."

"Hmmm, there's a way," Sophie said.

She smiled wickedly and pulled her hands out and began to open my fly. I was torn between my urge to feel her warm, wet mouth around my cock and the fear of being caught with my cock out. It would be pretty hard to get it back in, once it was out. Two voices hollered in my head, but the voice that told me I needed release, won. I didn't have it in me to stop Sophie. 

Her warm hands snaked in through my open fly and coaxed my cock out. It wasn't easy and again I thought about how difficult it would be to hide it away quickly, but I still didn't have the strength to stop her. When her lips pushed down, pushing the foreskin away from the head, I forgot everything around me. It had been over two months since I'd felt anything but my own hands and I was in heaven. 

Sophie didn't tease me. She worked fast and was determined to make me come as quickly as possible. At least it felt that way. It felt wonderful. I put my hands on her head, primarily to steady myself. I was very, very aroused already and it only took her a couple of minutes to bring me way over the top. As a sheer reflex, I pressed her head against my crotch as I came. She had her hand wrapped around my shaft, so I didn't choke her; I just came and came and came. If I had pumped as much cum into her mouth as it felt like I did, she would have drowned, but she swallowed it all without any problems.      

We had taken a great risk, doing what we did in a public library. With the pressure gone, I saw things more clearly. I was just about to say that this would have to be the only time we did it in the library, when Sophie broke the silence.

"This was so great. We can do this every Saturday."

She looked so happy and I didn't want to disappoint her. After all, maybe it was just me, worrying too much. And it had been wonderful.



To be continued. 
  

You can find more stories written by me at:
http://www.asstr.org/~henlar/ 
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/henlar


      
