Neighbors with Benefits
by Richard Lovel – Copyright 2025 – All rights reserved
Chapter 2 – Mandy’s Pool
Peter showed up the next afternoon, as instructed. He wandered through the gate in his battered Converse, carrying a plastic grocery sack with a few bottles of lemon seltzer. The sun was high and blinding, the concrete of the pool deck already radiating heat by the time he found Mandy on her chaise, an unread book tented on her stomach and a fresh stripe of zinc on her nose.
She was wearing almost nothing: a sheer, seaglass-blue wrap tied at the hip. Peter’s eyes lingered on her legs—solid, tan, more athletic than he expected—before he forced himself to look away, flush creeping up his neck. He set the seltzer on the glass table and stammered, “I, uh, brought some of this… I didn’t know if…you like it? Or want me to leave?”
“Love seltzer,” she said, sitting up and folding the wrap tighter around her bust. If she noticed his eyes darting, she didn’t say. “You’re sweet. Come sit. I want to pick your brain about Alexa—mine’s started talking back. Male voice, too. It’s so invasive.” She patted the empty chaise beside her.
Peter sat, knees together, hands knotted in his lap. Mandy cracked a seltzer, took a slow, noisy sip, and then threw her legs up over the arm of her chair, exposing nearly the entirety of her thigh. “Too bright, isn’t it?” she said, squinting at the clouds. Without ceremony, she untied the wrap and shrugged it off, letting it flutter to the pool deck.
Peter let out a sound between a gasp and a cough. She was completely, unapologetically naked. Her breasts were so large and soft they seemed to defy gravity, and her nipples—darker than he’d pictured—stood out against the areolae like thumbprints. She had wide hips and a plush belly, not fat but maternal, womanly. Between her thighs, a carefully maintained strip of dark hair pointed like an arrow to her sex. Even her feet were elegant, with painted nails and a small tattoo visible on her right instep. She was magnificent.
“Sorry, Didn’t even think to warn you. I usually sunbathe nude. Tan lines drive me crazy.” She said this matter-of-factly, but then cocked an eye and asked with concern. “Does this make you uncomfortable? I can put something back on.”
“I, uh—” Peter cleared his throat, trying to be equally casual. “No, of course not.”
Mandy eased back utterly at ease, hands cradling her head, full breasts exposed to the sun and his gaze. “Oh good. I like letting my hair down, so to speak.”
Peter’s eyes darted in frantic search of a safe focus, but they were irresistibly drawn back to her body—the gentle curve of her belly, the shadow between her thighs, and most of all, the heavy swell of her breasts. Each time he caught himself staring, he quickly looked away, only to find his gaze returning moments later.
Mandy watched this, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You look like you’ve never seen a naked woman before.”
“Sure … I mean, obviously … but not—like this.”
Voice softer, not mocking him. “I figured as much. You don’t have the jaded look.” She leaned forward, her breasts shifting forward prominently. “It’s OK to look, Peter. It’s not rude. It’s only a body. We all have them.” He felt his face erupt in heat, but still his gaze kept darting away before her casual nudity.
“Would you mind passing me that lotion?” Mandy pointed to a bottle on a small table between their loungers.
“Thanks, neighbor,” she said, pouring a generous dollop of lotion into her palm. She massaged it into her chest, fingers molding the soft curves of her breasts into captivating shapes. Her hands dipped lower, teasingly brushing against the dark hair at the edge of her pubic mound. As she parted her legs slightly to apply the lotion to the delicate folds of her vulva, Peter swallowed hard. He shifted uncomfortably on the lounger, discreetly adjusting his jeans as his erection strained against the fabric, creating a pronounced bulge that was impossible to hide.
Mandy watched him squirm and looked down at his lap, chuckling. “Should I do my Mae West imitation? ‘Is that a pistol in you pocket, or are you just glad to see me?’”
Peter’s face burned. He hunched forward, hands clasped tightly in front of him, trying to shield his arousal from view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh silly, don’t worry about that thing. Boners happen. The body has its own responses; nothing to be embarrassed about.” There was a serenity to her nudity, a kind of maternal power that made his own arousal seem not only forgivable but expected. He let himself look at her, really look. She smiled, satisfied.
“Seriously, it’s fine, Peter. OK to look all you want. When a girl has tits like mine, she’s used to it. I always say she ought to encourage it. Sort a public service. … But …” her tone gentle and confidential. “You might be more comfortable if you loosened your pants a bit. Those jeans look pretty restrictive.”
The suggestion made Peter’s erection twitch, and he pressed his thighs together more firmly. “I’m okay,” he managed, though he was anything but. He shifted his weight again, crossed his ankles, uncrossed them, wiped his hands on his pants for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I was wondering,” Mandy said, shifting to face Peter more directly, her breasts shifting with the movement, “did you find my website? JOI4BOIZ?” She pronounced it carefully, this time spelling the letters —”J-O-I for boys”—her eyes fixed on his face, watching for his reaction.
Peter felt a flush creep up his neck. “Yes,” barely audible. “I found it.”
“And?” Mandy prompted, tilting her head slightly. “What did you think?”
“It was… professional. Well-designed.”
“You know what JOI means, don’t you?”
Peter swallowed hard. “Jack-Off Instruction, I, uh, sort of. I mean, I’ve seen those letters before.” He was afraid to reveal too much personal familiarity with the genre.
“I thought you might. It’s an acronym that flies under the radar of content filters, but most men who need my services recognize it immediately. It’s a funny niche. People think they know what it means, but they don’t. It’s not just porn. It’s a whole subculture.”
“What are your … clients like?”
“Lots of different men use JOI sites, but I sort of specialize. My clients are men who don’t have ‘normal’ sex. They are chronic masturbators who feel inadequate or anxious around women. They have never developed the aggressive sexuality our culture expects. Most have deep-seated shame about their desires and needs. Society tells them they’re defective. They’re not. They’re just… wired different. We call them beta males. You know that term? “
“Beta males,” Peter nodded, greeting the term with uncomfortable recognition.
“My clients want more than just getting off. They need validation, understanding. They need someone to witness them in their most vulnerable state without judgment or ridicule. Some are virgins, never fucked a woman. Others have tried fucking but couldn’t make their dicks work. Some have been OK with pussy but are way more into masturbating.”
The bluntness of her language made Peter blink. “You don’t mind if I use straightforward language, do you Peter? All that Psychology-Today-psycho-babble looks good on my website, but you and I can get past it.” Peter nodded again, and her shift in tone did nothing to ease the persistent throb in his groin.
“So you just…watch?”
She lay back on the lounge, idly massaging her breasts as she spoke. “For a lot of men, it’s about being witnessed. The act of being seen changes everything. Sometimes I give instruction. Sometimes I give feedback. Sometimes I tease, or even humiliate, because they’ve fetishized their shame. Sometimes it’s therapy, sometimes it’s coaching. Sometimes it’s just being a friend. It depends on what they need.”
She shifted again, unconcerned how her parted thighs exposed her vulva to his gaze. “I don’t work with alpha males. You know the type—confident, sexually aggressive, always on the prowl. They just want to dominate and cyber-fuck me. But don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind being fucked, on my terms” she continued matter-of-factly. “I like a hard cock in my pussy, and I get as much as I want in my personal life. But I don’t like how alphas try to boss me around. They expect me to be impressed by their cock size or stamina, to validate their ego through my responses. It gets so old. You can see that?”
Peter nodded, following her uncertainly.
“Beta males are different,” her voice softening. “They come to me already humble, already aware of their limitations. They don’t expect to impress me with their sexual prowess—quite the opposite. They are so grateful for what I give them. They know they’re not studs, and that honesty is refreshing.”
As she described her work, Peter felt something inside him relax.She had articulated the secret logic of his entire sex life. Was it just a job? Or did she really relate to men like him?
“Why do you do it?”
Mandy looked off toward the pool, then shrugged. “Because I’m good at it. Because I wish someone had told my sons, or my ex-husband, or even myself, that it’s okay to be different. Because it turns me on, knowing I can make a guy feel safe enough to show himself without filters.” She shot him a glance. “And because I like men who are a little broken.”
She sat up fully now, hands resting on her knees, spreading them naturally apart in. But there was nothing deliberately provocative about her position. She simply existed in her body with complete comfort.
“Peter, I’ve been doing all the talking. You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
He forced a laugh. “I guess not.”
She nudged his knee with hers. “That’s okay. I actually enjoy your quiet. Can I be honest with you, Peter?”
He nodded, suddenly nervous.
“You’re adorable.” She said it flatly, as if stating the obvious. “Like, genuinely. Most guys your age would already be trying to fuck me. You haven’t even looked at my pussy once.” She spread her knees wider, gesturing. “See? Not even now.”
Peter’s cheeks went nuclear. He fixed his gaze on the pool tiles, but found his eyes inexorably drawn back to her. “I don’t want to be rude,” he said.
Mandy laughed, but there was no bite to it. “It’s not rude. It’s honest. And honestly, you’re the sweetest, most innocent guy I’ve met off-line in a long time.”
She let the compliment settle. Then, with the same disarming directness, she said, “So, Peter. what about you? If you’ve never had a girlfriend, and you don’t fuck around, you must jerk off a lot, huh?”
Peter’s face, already flushed, turned a deeper shade of crimson. Mandy waited patiently, making no attempt to rescue him from his embarrassment or retract the question.
“I…” Peter began, then faltered. He looked down at his hands. “Yes,” he finally admitted, the word barely audible.
“How often?” Mandy asked, her tone neutral, as if inquiring about his exercise routine or dietary preferences.
Peter stared at his hands, which he had clenched into fists on his lap. “A lot. I always have.”
Mandy nodded, unfazed. “How much is a lot?”
He hesitated, then, seeing the patience in her eyes, whispered, “Twice a day, sometimes more.”
“Morning and night, or just whenever?”
“Both.” He couldn’t believe he was saying this aloud.
Mandy’s smile widened, almost maternal. “ It’s okay. I’m not judging. That’s pretty typical for the men I work with. You know what the record is among my clients?”
Peter shook his head, afraid of where this was going.
“Seven times in one day. He was trying to beat his personal best. I had to coach him through the last two—it’s like a marathon, honestly.” She said it with such clinical ease that the mortification started to evaporate, replaced by a strange pride.
Mandy took a long, appraising look at Peter. “Does this conversation turn you on? Or just embarrass you?”
“Both,” he admitted, voice cracking.
She nodded. “Good. Because it’s supposed to. That’s how you move past the shame—by owning it, letting it be part of the turn-on.” She paused, then, with a casualness that masked the deliberate poke, said, “You still have that boner, don’t you? But it’s bigger now.”
He almost choked and tried to hide his lap with his hands, but the bulge was unmistakable.
“You’d probably feel more at ease if you took off your pants. Those jeans must be torture by now.”
The suggestion sent a mix of fear and excitement coursing through Peter. He swallowed hard. “I can’t—not here—”
“Why not? The yard is private. It’s just you and me. But no pressure if you’re not ready.” She continued in a conversational tone, “Why don’t you tell me more about your masturbation habits. When did you first start?”
“When I was twelve,” Peter answered, relieved to be back on slightly safer ground, though the topic remained deeply personal. “I found some magazines in my uncle’s garage. Women in swimsuits, nothing explicit. But it was enough. At first it was a need. Then t became… regular. A habit.” The words came easier now, as if Mandy’s matter-of-fact approach had created a space where these admissions were possible.
“Did you feel guilty about it?” He nodded.
“Still do?” He nodded again
“And since then?” Mandy prompted.
“In high school, I’d sometimes do it between classes. In college, I would skip social events just to stay in my room and… you know.”
“Masturbate,” Mandy supplied the word he couldn’t quite say. “It’s okay to use the actual term, Peter. Masturbate. Jerk off. Whack it. Whatever language feels comfortable.”
Peter nodded, a small gesture of acknowledgment. “It got worse when I started working from home. Sometimes three or four times a day. I’m on conference calls, and under the desk, I’m…”
“Edging yourself,” Mandy finished for him again.
“Yes.” The admission felt both terrifying and liberating. “I know it’s pathetic.”
“Not pathetic. Human.” Mandy’s correction was gentle but firm. “What do you think about when you masturbate, Peter? What fantasies drive you to orgasm?”
Peter’s breathing had become shallow, his discomfort and arousal increasing in equal measure. “Women with… with large breasts.” he confessed, unable to look at Mandy’s ample chest as he said it. “Always big breasts. Sometimes…milking, or breastfeeding.”
Mandy listened intently, no judgment. “You know that’s one of the most common kinks, right? A lot of men, especially those with nurturing moms, have that wiring. It’s not weird. It’s actually pretty classic. What else?”
“Women who seem kind but also… in control. Women who might… watch me. Or make me jerk off in front of them. Like, forced.”
“That’s a common fantasy too,” Mandy assured him. “Many men are aroused by the idea of being seen, of having their pleasure controlled by a woman they find attractive.” She paused, then asked with deliberate casualness, “Did you masturbate to me on my website last night?”
“Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rather than seeming offended, Mandy nodded as if confirming a hypothesis. “I thought you might. That’s what the site is designed for, after all.” She studied him for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. “Would you like to masturbate for me now?”
Peter’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with shock. “What?”
“What I said,” Mandy said calmly. “Would you like to masturbate for me now? Here, in person. With me watching. Isn’t that what you were fantasizing about last night?”
Peter felt as if the ground had vanished beneath him. His heart raced, and the erection that had begun to fade surged back at her suggestion. His mouth was dry, words caught in his throat.
“I don’t mean to pressure you. You can say no. But I think it would help. For both of us. It would certainly be more honest than sitting there pretending you’re not thinking about it. Because, well, it’s both my work, and my hobby, you know.”
Peter trembled visibly, caught between overwhelming desire and paralyzing shame. The fantasy that had occupied his thoughts for so long was suddenly being offered as reality. The possibility was both terrifying and irresistible.
“If… if that would be all right,” he finally whispered, his voice shaking with a mixture of anticipation and fear.
Mandy smiled, warm and reassuring. “More than all right. It would be my pleasure to witness you, Peter, no matter how nervous it make you.” She settled back on her lounger, adjusting her breasts for his view, preparing for his performance. “Whenever you’re ready.”
~~~ Being Seen ~~~
Mandy’s invitation hung in the air, yet Peter remained paralyzed, caught between fantasy and reality. His fingers shook, a thin film of sweat glistening on his forehead. She observed him with calm patience, not rushing or intervening, giving him space to confront his own reluctance. Finally, he fumbled to unbutton his jeans and lower the zipper; the sound echoed sharply in the stillness of the backyard.
“Take your time,” Mandy said softly. “There’s no rush.”
Peter nodded gratefully. He pushed his jeans down to his thighs and hesitated, painfully aware of the bulge pressing against his briefs. Taking a deep breath, he stripped off his shirt, folding it neatly before placing it on the edge of the lounger—a small act of order amid the chaos of this surreal moment.
“The underwear too, Peter,” Mandy prompted, her tone matter-of-fact but kind. “I want to see your completely naked body, not just your dick.”
His thumbs gripped the waistband of his briefs, and with a quick motion, he yanked them down and stepped out. Now completely exposed before her, his erection prominently, and he instinctively moved to cover himself before forcing his hands back to his sides.
Mandy studied him carefully, his slouched posture, the pallor of his sun-deprived skin, and the appearance of his modest-sized penis. “You have a nice body, Peter. Your dick is a little small, but nothing to be ashamed of. I like them that size: nothing wasted, just a handful.”
He forced a weak smile, unsure how to react to the compliment. Standing naked while she lounged created an odd power dynamic—she was nude too, yet held complete control over the moment.
“Now, why don’t you begin,” Mandy suggested. “Show me how you normally touch yourself. Start slowly. I don’t have official lube for you, but you can use suntan lotion. It’s coconut oil. Works great.”
Peter’s hand found its way to his erection, wrapping around it with a practiced familiarity that contrasted sharply with the surreal setting. He started with soft, hesitant strokes, his gaze fixed on a point beyond Mandy’s shoulder, avoiding her direct gaze while engaging in such a personal act.
“That’s it,” Mandy urged gently. “Nice and easy. But look at me, Peter. Connection is important.” With noticeable effort, Peter lifted his eyes to meet hers. The instant their gazes locked, an electric shiver coursed through him, and his hand began to move with newfound confidence.
“Good boy,” Mandy nodded approvingly. “Now, I want you to stand with your legs wider apart. Let me see everything.”
Peter complied, spreading his stance. He felt ridiculous, exposed in a way that went beyond physical nakedness, yet the embarrassment only seemed to intensify his arousal.
“Turn around,” Mandy instructed. “Bend forward. Now reach around behind and milk yourself. Like you’re a cow.”
The position felt absurd and vulnerable—his back to her, bent at the waist, his most private areas completely displayed. Yet he obeyed, his breath coming faster.
“Now face me again, but this time, kneel down,” Mandy directed. “Yes, right there, where I can see you clearly.”
Peter sank to his knees on the warm concrete of the pool deck, continuing masturbation as instructed. She spread her legs wide apart, and from this position, his eyes were almost level with the mystery of her pussy. He had to look up at her face, melting into feeling she was in complete control of his pleasure.
“My good boy. You’re doing wonderfully,” she praised. “Now slow down a little and tell me, Peter, have you ever tried to fuck a woman?”
The question caught him off guard, disrupting his rhythm momentarily. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice strained. “Twice. In college.”
“And what happened? Look at my pussy while you tell me.” Mandy’s tone remained conversational, as if they were discussing the weather rather than his most humiliating failures while he knelt naked before her, pleasuring himself.
“I couldn’t…” Peter swallowed hard. “The first time, I got too nervous and couldn’t get hard. The second time, I got hard but … finished too quickly. Before I even… before anything really happened.”
“Oh my poor boy. That must have been embarrassing. Just a limp dick, apremature ejaculation, and no pussy.” Mandy observed, neither mocking nor pitying.
“It was,” Peter agreed, the memory making him flush even now. “After that, I just… stopped trying … .”
“Trying what? Say fuck.”
“I stopped trying to … fuck.”
“And focused on masturbation instead?”
“Yes.” The admission came easier now, as if each confession loosened something tight inside him.
“Put your other hand behind your head,” Mandy instructed suddenly, changing the subject. “Keep your elbow out, like you’re posing. That’s it.”
The position felt ridiculous, performative, yet Peter complied without hesitation. His arousal had reached a point where the embarrassment no longer competed with his pleasure but enhanced it. Each awkward pose, each secred exposed, seemed to drive him closer to the edge.
“What did you think about when you masturbated to my website?” Mandy asked, leaning forward slightly.
“I imagined you watching me,” Peter gasped, his hand moving faster. “Like this. I imagined you seeing me… seeing how much I need it.”
“Did you imagine me touching you? Or more? Did you think maybe I would let you fuck me? Take your virginity? Pop your cherry? Make you a man?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
Mandy nodded, as if his answer confirmed something important. “You need to understand something. I will never allow you to fuck me. It’s not because you’re not an alpha male. I give pity-fucks to virgins too, teaching fuckless guys how to have real sex. I did that for friend-zone boys in college, and still do.” Mandy continued matter-of-factly. “But I won’t fuck you. I won’t even give you a handjob.”
Peter’s rhythm faltered slightly, confusion and fear of rejection momentarily overtaking arousal. “Why?” he managed to ask.
“Because I like you a lot, Peter. I like you too much do that to you. It would spoil you. Spoil your precious innocence. Because you need pussy-denial for your own good. Pussy would not make you happy, Peter. You’re a no-pussy boy, a masturbator.” She leaned closer, her breasts swaying with the movement. “Masturbation is what you were made for. It’s what you need. It’s what you are. A masturbator”
The words should have crushed him, confirming his shortcomings and failure by society’s standards. Yet, instead, they felt like a blessing, offering a permission he had never received before. The relief of being truly seen and accepted for who he was sent an overwhelming wave of joy through him. Peter’s breath grew uneven, his hand moving with quick, urgent motions. Every word Mandy uttered seemed to reach a hidden part of him that had always recognized these truths but had never dared to accept them.
Mandy continued, her voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality. “You don’t need to pretend something you’re not. You don’t need to chase fake masculinity that doesn’t fit who you truly are. You’re not meant for fucking, Peter. You’re meant for this—kneeling, exposed, pleasuring yourself while a woman watches. You don’t need pussy, you need hand-pussy. You’re not a man, you’re a masturbator. Are you, Peter? Are you a masturbator. Will you be my good boy? Will you be my masturbator?”
And then Peter asked her again with his eyes to ask him again, and he stroked his hands around his penis and she leaned down so he could feel her breasts yes and his heart was going like mad and yes he said yes I will Yes.
“STOP! You’re close, aren’t you? Stop. Take your hand off your penis.” Mandy ordered. “Don’t worry, I will let you cum. But not yet. I have one more thing for you to try.”
~~~ But not fucking ~~~
Mandy rose from her lounger with fluid grace and walked to the side of the pool, where several colorful inflatable toys were stacked. She selected a bright blue float shaped vaguely like a dolphin, though its design was more functional than accurate. She tossed it onto the concrete beside Peter. “I want you to show me how you’d fuck if you could. Mount it, like you would a woman, and let me see you hump.”
Peter stared at the pool toy, momentarily shocked out of his aroused haze. It seemed absurd, childish even, to hump an inflatable dolphin. Yet the thought of following Mandy’s instructions, of performing this embarrassing act under her watchful gaze, sent another pulse of excitement through his groin.
“Go on,” Mandy encouraged, resuming her seat on the lounger. “Don’t overthink it. Just feel. This will make you totally ridiculous for me. It will break down the last reserve, and let be as pathetic and adorable as I know you are.”
Peter’s hands shook as he placed the float on the concrete, its vinyl surface heated by the sun. He carefully lowered himself onto it, his arousal making contact with the soft material. Instinctively, he pressed forward, feeling the sensitive underside of his penis glide over the plastic.
“That’s it,” Mandy nodded approvingly. “Find your rhythm. Show me how Peter Stroker dreams he would fucked a woman if he ever got the chance.”
The words were both painful and exhilarating. Peter found a steady pace, pressing against the plastic toy, his actions becoming more natural as his shame transformed into sheer pleasure. The float emitted a soft squeak beneath him, an amusing noise that paradoxically heightened both his embarrassment and, consequently, his excitement.
“Look at me while you do it,” Mandy instructed. “I want to see your face, see what you’re feeling.”
Peter raised his eyes to meet hers, his cheeks burning with shame even as pleasure built within him. The contrast between his undignified actions—naked, mounting a pool toy like a desperate teenager—and Mandy’s composed observation drove him closer to the edge.
“Good boy. You’re getting the hang of it,” Mandy coached, her voice warm with approval. “Your strokes are smoother now. More confident. That’s what Jack-Off Instruction is all about—helping you embrace your true sexual self without shame or hesitation. It’s you, isn’t it, Peter … do you feel it?”
Peter’s breathing had become ragged, his hips moving with increasing urgency against the slick surface of the float. The plastic was poor substitute for flesh, yet the act of performing under Mandy’s direction, of being so completely exposed and vulnerable, transcended the physical sensations.
“Good boy, that’s the way to fuck. But remember, Peter it’s not a woman. It’s a silly blowup floatie, and you look silly fucking it. It makes me so happy to see you like this. You are hopeless with pussy…don’t even try to fuck again, pussy isn’t for you. But this—performing, displaying, masturbating. It’s what you were made for. It’s your true calling.”
The words penetrated Peter’s consciousness, affirming something he had always suspected but never dared acknowledge. There was liberation in this admission, in accepting his nature. His movements became more abandoned, as he surrendered to the role she had assigned him.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” Mandy asked, leaning forward slightly. “I can see it in your face, in the way your hips are losing their rhythm. Go ahead, Peter. Show me how a chronic masturbator mates and breeds with a a pool toy.”
Permission granted and magnified by her unflinching gaze, Peter passes the point of no return. He senses the first twitch of a prostatic spasm. His eyes lock with Mandy’s; his face contorts with ecstasy; and a hint of agony signals the inevitable ejaculation.
His body tenses and arches, thrusting desperately against the floatie toy, fingers digging into the plastic and toes curling in carpopedal spasms. The floatie emits squeaks and groans in response, as if sharing in his mounting pleasure. He ejaculates visibly, body convulsing with each wave of pleasure, streams of white semen coursing onto the bright blue surface.
The sounds of Peter’s guttural moans and gasps intermingle with the wet slapping of skin against plastic. and Mandy’s encouraging voice adds to the symphony. Wave after wave of pleasure course through him, more intense than anything he had experienced alone, each pulse emptying not just his body but some long-held reservoir of shame.
As the final aftershock subsided, Peter slumped forward, panting, his skin slick with sweat, his mind blissfully empty. For several moments, he remained there, gradually becoming aware of the absurdity of his position—naked, splayed across a children’s pool toy, his semen coating on its surface.
Mandy let him lie there in the intense humiliation and vulnerability following his performance. He looked up, expecting to see mockery or disgust, but found only warm acceptance in her eyes. She soothed him with gentle after-care. “Oh, Peter my good boy. That was so beautiful. Such a good humpy boy, Mommie’s little masturbator. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
~~~ Aftercare ~~~
He slowly peeled himself away from the float, post-orgasmic uncertainty flooding him in the wake of his release. Mandy rose and draped her beach wrap over her shoulders with effortless elegance. The soft fabric cloaked her nudity, signaling a shift in the atmosphere—a return to something resembling normalcy.
“You did wonderfully,” she said, her tone conversational yet intimate. “Most men are too self-conscious their first time. They hold back, try to appear more controlled than they feel. But you gave yourself over to the experience completely.”
Peter nodded, uncertain of how to reply to the compliment. He awkwardly grabbed his underwear, struggling to put it on as his limbs felt sluggish and unsteady. “I’m really happy to be your neighbor now, Peter, and even happier to be your friend. I want you to know that this is just the start. Feel free to come see me whenever you like.”
“Thank you,” Peter croaked, his voice raspy.
“I mean it, You don’t need a formal invitation or appointment,” Mandy emphasized then winked. “Friends don’t let friends masturbate alone.”
“You’d… you’d be okay with that?”
“More than okay,” Mandy assured him with a warm smile. “I enjoy helping your true nature unfold. And judging by what I just witnessed, together we can unfold much more. Just pop over any time. Even if I’m busy. You can just hang out and masturbate when you need to.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. “Thank you seems inadequate.”
“No thanks necessary,” Mandy waved away his gratitude. “This is mutually beneficial. I get the satisfaction of seeing you embrace your authentic sexuality, and you get the release and acceptance you clearly need.”
“If there’s ever anything I can do for you,” Peter offered earnestly, “any technical support or—”
“I’ll definitely take you up on that. The equipment you set up yesterday is just the beginning. I have plans to expand my online presence, and having an IT specialist right across the street is incredibly convenient.”
She moved closer, reaching out to adjust his collar in a gesture that was both maternal and intimate. “See? Neighbors with benefits, in the truest sense. You help with my technology; I help with your… personal needs.”
“I should probably go,” he said reluctantly. “I have some work to finish before tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Mandy nodded. “But remember what I said. My back gate is always open for you.”
As Peter collected his things and headed for the gate, he sensed a shift within himself—lighter, as though he had released more than just physical tension in their encounter. He felt, for the first time in his life, fully sexual.
At the gate he turned for one final look. Mandy had returned to her lounger, the wrap falling open to reveal her nude body once more as she reclined in the late afternoon sun. She raised her hand in a casual wave, and Peter returned the gesture before slipping through the gate and heading home.
Mandy watched Peter leave, smiling at him and to herself. Once alone, Mandy’s fingers opened her own special gate and she moaned, remembering why she loves her line of work so much.
~~~ end ~~~
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PeterFiles: Neighbors with Benefits | by Richard Lovel | Copyright 2025 | All rights reserved
RL-2025-06-22