Victor StCyr

Next Door Stories is a collection of erotic short stories patterned after letters to the editor of a fictional adult magazine. Stories include graphic erotic content of a variety of styles, MF, MM, FF, and any permutation in between. All stories are fiction written by the author.

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Hello fellow closet pervs! Welcome to the first installment of Next Door Stories. Our weekly series will feature hot tales of that best kind of loving, the unexpected kind. Nothing fancy, high class, or porn plot tastic, no high rise apartment stories here, if you catch my meaning. We will feature the best of encounters of the impulsive and neighborly kind. Please, send your own stories of underground loving to our editor, [email protected] and you may be included.

We start things off this week with a story of my own college days, and the best temp job I EVER had. As aways, all names and places have been changed to protect the naughty.


“C’mon. It’s easy money. You wear a costume, you stay in one place for a few hours, you make a flat hundred bucks.” Rich may have been trying to sound like he was making me a sweet deal, but I could hear the desperation in his voice. He managed talent, if that was the word, for art installations, small time acting gigs, things like that. He’d called me up early Saturday morning begging me to cover for a job that three people had cancelled out of. I didn’t want to do it, but I was making seven an hour plus tips delivering pizza to pay for college, and it was pretty good pay.

So I found myself at the Grand Canal Art and History Museum. They were showing some dude’s paintings, like Warhol did acid while watching the classic movie channel, if you ask me. It was all gangsters and World War Two soldiers in odd situations, peppered with objects that just OOZED the kind of symbolism that art critics get paid to ponder out loud.

There were two of us being costumed up to perform a sort of living tableau of one of the guy’s better known works. Perhaps you know it. A guy in a thick white priests’ robe kneels at the feet of a female gangster straight out of Dick Tracy, pistol in one hand and jeweled scepter in the other. The priest is holding a large shepherd's crook and gazing up at the gangster, offering up a small treasure chest.

The robe they gave me was hot and a bit scratchy, but mostly hot, so I stripped down to my briefs, threw it on, and came out of the bathroom. My co-statue was already in place, sitting in a heavy wooden chair, almost a throne really. It was raised on a platform. The woman cut a pretty nice figure in the suit jacket and pencil skirt, bright red hair and more freckles than stars in the sky. Totally professional, we weren’t even officially on yet, and she was stock still. The art director put me in place, handed me the staff (paper mache, thank god, real wood would have been twenty pounds) and a small chest, moving me into position an inch at a time.

I looked up at her, putting the proper adoration on my face. It didn’t take any acting, she was cute, and I spent the next few minutes studying her face. We stayed in position while workers finished setting up, the rooba rooba of the guests lining up outside growing in volume and pitch. The chair creaked slightly as my fellow statue shifted a little, and I caught a flash of green. Looking down just a touch, I realized I had a pretty clear view up her skirt, and the green panties I now knew she was wearing. My eyes shot back up to hers, and I worked to keep my face in character. The doors opened and people came streaming in as we stared at each other. I thought at the time I was imagining it, but she seemed to be grinning even more than before. People began looking at the displays, the paintings, shadow boxes full of artifacts of the artist’s life, and us. Lots of pictures were taken of us. One guy got down right next to me, camera right by my head. I guess its makes sense, perspective of the kneeling priest, but that thing was LOUD in my ear. He took in a quick breath, and suddenly the camera was more in my chest level. I was about to break character and move when the museum director came over and shooed him away. "No touching the exhibits, move along!"

I could hear the guy behind me talking to his friend, showing him the picture, and suddenly there began a cavalcade of guys sticking their cameras and phones in my face, taking upskirt shots. I know my eyes had to show irritation, but if anything, she looked amused. I just kept my eyes on hers, and focused on being a statue. Her green eyes. Like emeralds, glinting in the flashing light. I may have spent more time than was healthy looking her in the eyes, following the curve of her nose, playing connect the dots in my head with her freckles. Suddenly, I realized that the cameras had stopped. Everyone was over at the other side of the room as someone was presenting some essay or another about the symbolism of one of the paintings.

“HEEY!” I whispered through my teeth, trying not to be seen moving. “Hey, uhh… lady in the chair.”

She replied the same, hissing through her smile. “Halfway to lunch guy, don’t quit on me now.”

“No, I… all those guys taking pictures, your skirt, its uh… we can see your panties.”

“Really? I had no idea. What color are they?”

She seemed… sarcastic. Hard to tell though, through the whispering.

“Uhh, green. Like your eyes.”

She definitely smiled wider then. “You noticed! It was hard finding a matching green. And the pattern?”

“Pattern? I don’t, I can’t see a pattern.”

Her head whipped back and forth, making sure no one was watching, then the chair creaked under her as she shifted, leaning back a bit, legs rippling in and out, causing the hem to inch back a bit.

“Take a good long look then. I like it when people look, why do you think I do these things?”

Blood rushed to my face and I dropped my gaze, I had a clear view up her skirt. “Hearts.” I whispered. “Green with red hearts.”

“Enjoy the view, you’ve got about an hour.”

The next hour crawled by. I keep looking back and forth between her face and her crotch. Every time I caught her eyes, she’d wink, or lick her lips quickly. She was still professional though, the rest of her body and face were like marble, unmoving. It was actually a little creepy at times. Its a good thing our places weren’t reversed, my erection would have been obvious in any outfit but the loose robe I was in.

Suddenly the gallery emptied and the director was lifting me up.

“Great work guys! Hit the bathroom, have some lunch in the employee lounge, right through there, under the painting of the green cow sitting on the President, and be back in thirty.”

I tried to talk to her, but she was off like a shot in the womans’. I handled my own business, splashed a bit of water on my face, and hung out waiting in the lounge eating cheap sandwiches and avoiding the coffee. Not if I was going to be kneeling another couple hours. I had hoped to chat with her, but no go.

I popped out to get back in place to see her at the opposite end, talking to one of the security guards. She hurried over, and got into position on her chair, giving me a broad wink. I kneeled in front of her, and gasped, almost rising back up.

“Something wrong? Pull a muscle?” The directory looked worried.

“No, no, I’m fine.” I settled back down looking her directly in the eyes. She smiled broader than ever as the director pushed and prodded us both back into position. As soon as he turned to go reopen the gallery, I took another long, hard look. Sometime in the last half hour the hearts had vanished. I had a clear view of everything. Bright lips, a fine ruff of curly hair, even brighter red than her head. She had looked like a natural redhead, and now I knew she was. A bit of an overhanging hood, promising of a juicy jewel beneath.

“Like what you see, priest?”

I drug my eyes back to hers, and she licked her lips slowly, the rest of her body motionless. The next thirty minutes dragged by, my gaze switching back and forth. The things I imagined doing, but she said she liked being watched, not touched. I wasn’t doing anything without a definitive invitation. And less of an audience. Suddenly, the hall was clear as a small presentation started in another room. I broke character for a moment, looking around, and just as I was about to crack my neck and stretch my back, her scepter smacked me in the back of the head. Next thing I knew I was yanked forward, slipping under her skirt. I froze for a moment. Tip of my nose warm and wet, already sliding between her. That glorious pubic hair tickled my face, and the scent…

“Seriously dude? Have you never been face first in a woman before? Get to work or I’ll shove you back on your ass.”

One invitation, printed, gilded, and delivered with a bow. I lifted my head a little to get some air, and dug my tongue between those delightful lips. She shifted and moaned lightly as I ran the tip of my tongue around the inside of her opening, the slowly worked my way up. I flicked up under her hood, and ran circles over her clit. She gasped as I worked over her delightful pearl, and the sweet and bitter taste of her filled my mouth. Her thighs clamped around my head, pinning my ears in the hood. It hurt, but I didn’t really pay attention, my focus on exploring every last crevice of that wonderful pussy with my mouth. I sucked her lips in against mine, rubbing the edges while working circles around her clit. She tightened up suddenly, and while I couldn’t hear her moans through her legs around my head, I could imagine them as she came, bursting into my mouth. Juices like wine, indeed. I was starting her well towards another, thinking about putting down the crap in my hands so I could work my fingers into the mix, when she twisted, feet on my shoulders, and slammed me backwards, hard.

My confusion lasted a moment, as I heard the clap clap of leather shoes on tile. Someone was heading our way. I quickly made sure I was in position, thankful for the loose robe and its ability to hide my raging hard on. She was panting as hard as she could without moving, face flushed red.

“Excuse me, we’re keeping the hall clear during the presentation.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the security guards ushering the wanderer away. SECURITY GUARD? Oh crap… was he watching? I relaxed as he left the hall as well, the door click shut. I turned back to my gangster girl, ready to dive in, only to find her standing, hands empty. She grabbed my by the robe, and pulled me to my feet, running her hands into the folds as she sank back into the chair.

“My turn.” Her nails scratched their way down my bare chest. I shivered a little as she ran past my stomach, cold hands pulling away my underwear and grabbing me by the cock with one hand, cupping my balls with the other. She tugged gently and I staggered forward as she wrapped her lips around my cock. I made a few sounds of my own and closed my eyes as she ran her tongue along the vein, lips inching forward, drawing more and more into her mouth. It was warm and wet and perfect. She pulled most of the way out, and I panicked for a moment as I felt teeth digging in just along ridge of my helmet. I dared not move as she licked back and forth along the tip of my cock, teeth pinning me in place. I was riding the edge of pain and pleasure, not sure if I liked it, but not wanting it to stop, when she added another element and pushed up just behind my balls with one finger. The pressure exploded up through me as she let go with the teeth and sucked me in down to my balls. I could feel my knees buckle and barely managed to keep upright as she stroked my cock with her mouth, pushing up into me every time she pulled me deeper into her mouth. I looked down and watched her bobbing her head up and down, riding my cock like a bomb pop. I tried to look around, make sure no one was coming, but I had a hard time concentrating, making sure I wasn’t coming yet either. I felt my balls twitch, and i think so did she, because she pushed me back a step, and pulled a foil packet from who knows where.

“They had a machine in the bathroom. Lucky me!” She ripped it open and rolled the condom over me in one quick stroke. Hiking her skirt up over her waist, she put a foot up on the arm of the chair, bent over, and looked backwards at me. “You going to stand there looking like an idiot, or are you going to fuck this pussy? We’ve got ten minutes, tops.”

“No, lucky ME” I took a grip of her skirt with one hand, and guided myself in. The feeling of her tightening around me was amazing. I don’t know if it was the suddenness of the situation, or the thrill of knowing we could be caught at any second, but her pussy was magic. One hand pulling her by the skirt, one wrapped around her belly, I slapped her back into me and started fucking her hard. She moaned softly, biting her hand to keep from making too much noise. The chair started to scrape back and forth on the raised platform as we gasped for air, coming together again and again. I felt her tighten around me and reached forward, pulling her by the cheek around to look at her face. We locked gazes as she bucked back into me, and I could feel her come. Her eyes started to roll back in her head, lids closing, as i slammed even harder into her, my own cock throbbing up and down in her as I came, and she came again with me.

The door started to open, and I really don’t remember how we did it, but in mere seconds we were back in place, clothes in correct order, objects in hand, as the crowd came back in. For another half hour we posed, and I could feel the condom sliding around and drying uncomfortably to my now limp dick. From the way she squirmed and the small puddle I could see in the chair under her, it was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me. We seemed safe, but more than a couple people walking around sniffed the air. I could smell the tang of sex and rubber of the condom vividly, and it seems I wasn’t the only one. No one commented on it, but I got more than a couple wondering glances.

Finally, the showing was over, the owner hustling people out, then telling us we could stand and get out of position. I was into the bathroom as quick as I could, peeling the used condom off and flushing it, changing out of the robe and praying I hadn’t left any stains. I was out like a flash, hoping to catch her, maybe ask her out for dinner, at least get a name and number. She was already changed as well, and that’s the hottest I’ve ever seen a woman look in tshirt and shorts. She was talking to the security guard, who was handing her a cd in a sleeve.

“Thanks John! You’re a peach.”

He tipped her hat, staring at her like he wanted to set her on fire. “No ma’am, thank YOU!” He walked away and she turned around and looked at me walk towards her.

“What’s that?”

She smiled broadly. “Souvenir. On lunch I asked security to make an extra copy of the camera feeds in the hall.”

It took me a moment to realize what she meant, but I glanced around, realized that at least three or four cameras were on us the whole time. “I, I, Uh... “

She slid up against me, running a finger down my cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he kept a copy for himself, and arranged a malfunction.”

“Good. Um, I guess. Anyways, I’m.”

She stopped my attempts to tell her my name by pulling me in for a deep kiss. I think I may have stopped breathing for a moment, as she finally broke away. “No no, lover. Lets leave it like this for now. Look on the bright side, if you work for Rich again, we may work together another time.” With that, she turned and walked away, and like a moron I stood there, enjoying the view, until she was out the door.

I did work for Rich a few times after that, and I did eventually learn her name, as well as a few things I would never have learned from anyone else. But that's a story for another time. Remember to send in your own hot stories of Next Door loving, and you may be printed here. 

13 Mai 2015 23:37 5 Rapport Incorporer Suivre l’histoire
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ana hoy ana hoy
Well done!
August 26, 2019, 05:54
Maria Ivanova Maria Ivanova
The story is not being updated anymore?
June 02, 2015, 05:22
VS Victor StCyr
Hi Galos! Thanks for commenting. The main conceit of the short stories are that they are a column in a magazine. Like Penthouse Letters. So I opened it up with that paragraph to kinda of... set the stage. The first story is coming from the editor himself, and is crafted in such a way to show people what turns him on and turns him off, in order to show what kind of stories he's likely to publish himself. All the stories are going to be written by me, although, if anyone wants to email me their own hot stories of real life loving on the sly, I certainly won't complain!
May 14, 2015, 11:37
Galo A. Vargas Galo A. Vargas
What's up with the first paragraph? Ad?
May 14, 2015, 10:01