The MILF next door (F/FM) part 2
Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2025 7:39 am
Charlie had been our next door neighbour for as long as I could remember. She had no children if her own so Annabelle, my older sister, and I seemed to be surrogate children. Babysitting, picking us up from school, holiday day care. When her husband died and our dad left she and mum became even closer. So it was no surprise that hot July day after A levels I found myself round her house doing various odd jobs, waiting for my results to come back.
I wore jeans, trainers and a black T-shirt. Today Charlie was wearing crisp white blouse, tan tights, red skirt to just above her knees and matching heels. At fifty, give or take, she certainly had a sexy look to her, even if in recent years she’d let herself go a bit. Huge chest, bigger bottom and thighs she could crush nuts with. But her blonde hair, few grey tints, tied ip in a neat bun, she still looked hot.
“Just popping out. I’ll be back later.”
“Going on a date?” I called.
“I wish.” She giggled back. “Solicitor . Again.”
I heard the door close and I cracked on with work when a few minutes later I heard the door open again. She must have forgotten something-I thought to myself self. Standing and going to the hallway I was suddenly surprised to see nor Charlie, but a young her woman, practically a girl, not much older than me. Despite the heat she was dressed largely in black, including a black ski mask. All I could see if her face was a pair of green eyes, and a finger pony tail emerging from a hole in the back of her mask and going half way down her back.
“Who are you?” I called out.
“What are you doing here?” She replied. “I saw yhe car leave thought the house was empty.”
I rushed towards the burglar then stopped mid stride; as she pulled out a small gun I raised my hands.
“This does complicate things a little.” She said. “But I came prepared. You just need to strip first.”
A minute later I was standing in the hallway in just my boxers. “OK. Now lie face down, hands on your head.” I assumed the somewhat humiliating position of submission, near naked as this red haired bitch sat on my back and wrenched my arms behind me. I felt as the first ropes bit into my wrists.
The girl was surprisingly strong, her thighs pinning mine as she secured my ankles, then knees. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She whispered, “I just want what’s in the safe.” She fastened my elbows together then picked up one of my discarded socks. “Open up buddy.” She teased.
I clenched my jaw, resisting—until the cold barrel of the gun pressed against my ribs. The fabric tasted bitter, stale sweat filling my mouth as she forced it into my mouth, then wrapped tape tightly round my head. My pulse hammered in my ears, sweat already beading on my bare back.
“Now let’s get you out of the way.”
The girl yanked me upright by the ropes binding my elbows, her grip unrelenting. She shoved me forward—no chance to walk with my ankles lashed together. My balance wobbled as I hopped awkwardly, the gun’s muzzle digging into my spine whenever I faltered. The stairs creaked under our combined weight, each hop sending a jolt of panic through me. At the landing, she steered me toward Charlie’s room with a sharp tug, the scent of lavender polish and Charlie’s perfume hitting me as we crossed the threshold.
She didn’t bother with gentleness. A kick to the back of my knees sent me crashing onto the upholstered chair in front of Charlie’s antique dressing table. The mirror reflected my wide-eyed terror, the sock bulging obscenely behind the tape, my bare chest flushed red. The girl moved fast—rope around my torso, pinning me to the chair’s backrest, then another coil securing my thighs to the seat. Finally my ankles to the crossbar beneath the seat. The knots pulled tight with every exhale, the rough fibres scratching my skin.
Her breath hit my ear, warm and unexpectedly soft. “Don’t try anything cute.” The gun barrel traced the line of my jaw before she stepped away, black-gloved fingers already rifling through Charlie’s jewelry box. Pearls clattered onto the tabletop, gold bracelets slid into her pocket. My muffled protests earned me nothing but a lazy glance in the mirror—her green eyes flicked up, amused. “Relax. By the time she finds you, I’ll be gone.”
The bedroom door clicked shut behind her. Silence, then distant drawers yawning open downstairs, the occasional thud of something heavy hitting carpet. I strained against the ropes, the chair creaking under my weight. The rough ropes bit into my wrists as I twisted, but the knots held. Sweat trickled down my ribs, the tape across my mouth tugging at my skin every time I tried to scream. She was certainly no amateur at knit thing , that was for sure.
Charlie’s bedroom smelled faintly of perfume and dust. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, highlighting the dust floating lazily in the air. My reflection in the mirror looked pathetic—bound, gagged, topless, no trousers and utterly helpless. I could hear her footsteps moving methodically through the house, pauses punctuated by the sound of more valuables being pocketed. A soft *clink*—probably the silverware from the dining room.
.
I wrenched my wrists against the ropes, twisting my torso until my shoulders screamed in protest. My muscles burned as I strained, teeth gritting around the sock in my mouth. The chair creaked ominously, but the knots held firm. Every jerk of my arms only tightened the bonds further. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging, blurring my vision. All I had to show for my struggle were raw, red abrasions circling my wrists.
Downstairs, the intruder's footsteps grew louder—she was heading back upstairs. My pulse spiked, thudding painfully as I forced myself still. The bedroom door swung open. She stood there, arms laden with Charlie's jewelry box, a triumphant smirk visible beneath the mask's edge. "Persistent, aren't you?" she mused, nodding at my rope-scorched skin. Her gloved fingers traced the fresh welts, sending a shameful shiver down my spine.
The sudden proximity of her body heat made my breath hitch. "Relax," she murmured, fingertips brushing my ribs where the gun had pressed earlier. "Almost done." She traced a gloved finger round MH left nipple, then kissed me in my gag before leaving me alone as she clumped down stairs.
The front door creaked open. Her leaving, at last-I thought to myself. But no. The burglar cursed, followed by Charlie’s unmistakable voice, sharp and alarmed. "What the hell.” The burglar screamed. Charlie shouted something unintelligible, followed by a crash.
My chest tightened. I thrashed against the ropes, the chair legs scraping against the floor as I rocked violently. The gag muffled my screams to pathetic whimpers. For fifteen, twenty minutes I struggled and strained, scraping my wrists and ankles raw, then the door opened.
Charlie entered. Gone was key blouse and skirt. She wore just her tan tights over a pair of white lace knickers. Her mouth, like mine , was covered with silver tape, and her cheeks bulged. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her chest stuck out more than usual. And those big jugs bounced and swayed with each forced step she took. The burglar entered behind her, pushing her into the room.
Charlie’s eyes met mine, mascara smeared down her checks, tears welling up. Her eyes widened when she saw me, bound and gagged. The burglar shoved her down on top of me, her tree trunk nylon covered thighs crushing mine, her panties crotch on show as her hips spread and the burglar began securing her ankles and knees to the back legs. Charlie was whimpering into her gag as the burglar twisted a rope round her waist, pinning her tummy against my chest. She struggled as the burglar pulled a rope tight around her upper arms and the chair back, forcing her forward, my face thrust between her breasts as the rope was tied it off behind her.
The burglar stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Charlie’s fleshy thighs were firmly clamped either side of mine, our bodies pressed together uncomfortably tight. The ropes creaked as Charlie tried to writhe free, the friction against my bare skin making me wince. The burglar smirked, slapping Charlie’s bottom with her palm. "Behave fatso" she warned. "Or your little friend here gets to watch me do worse to you." As she spanked Charlie’s bum again. “I can hardly miss a target this large.” And with that she grabbed Charlie’s left nipple between thumb and finger then squeezed.
Charlie let out a muffled sob against my chest. I could feel her rapid heartbeat through her ribs, smell the faint floral detergent on her tights as they stretched taut against her wide hips. The burglar circled us slowly, her boots clomping against the floor. She paused behind Charlie, yanking the older woman’s head back by her bun. “Now,” she whispered, I have to leave you and your sone here,. Or is it lover boy.?” And her boots echoed down the stairs till the front door clicked shut.
My cheeks burned as I strained against the ropes, my forehead pressed deeper into Charlie’s cleavage. She squirmed above me, her thighs flexing against mine, the nylon slick with sweat. Our combined weight made the chair groan ominously with every jerk of our bodies. The ropes dug into my ribs, the pressure forcing my breath into shallow gasps. I could see Charlie working up a sweat, drops running between her boobs, her body sliding over mine, the contras with the rough nylon against my legs.
Charlie arched her back suddenly, her muffled groan vibrating through my chest. She was trying to twist her wrists beneath the ropes, her shoulders trembling with the effort. The motion made her breasts press harder against my face. A sharp tug—her head jerked back as she strained against the rope. The scent of her perfume mixed with sweat filled my nostrils, dizzying. And ever time she jerked or wriggled, her boobs slapped against my face. And I could feel something growing between my legs.
Charlie could feel it too, and it seemed to make her wriggle more. And every time she wriggled her boobs slapped my face. And every time her boobs hit me, the thing between my legs grew, and pressed against her crotch through tights and knickers. And every time the bulge grew, Charlie wriggled more.
I wore jeans, trainers and a black T-shirt. Today Charlie was wearing crisp white blouse, tan tights, red skirt to just above her knees and matching heels. At fifty, give or take, she certainly had a sexy look to her, even if in recent years she’d let herself go a bit. Huge chest, bigger bottom and thighs she could crush nuts with. But her blonde hair, few grey tints, tied ip in a neat bun, she still looked hot.
“Just popping out. I’ll be back later.”
“Going on a date?” I called.
“I wish.” She giggled back. “Solicitor . Again.”
I heard the door close and I cracked on with work when a few minutes later I heard the door open again. She must have forgotten something-I thought to myself self. Standing and going to the hallway I was suddenly surprised to see nor Charlie, but a young her woman, practically a girl, not much older than me. Despite the heat she was dressed largely in black, including a black ski mask. All I could see if her face was a pair of green eyes, and a finger pony tail emerging from a hole in the back of her mask and going half way down her back.
“Who are you?” I called out.
“What are you doing here?” She replied. “I saw yhe car leave thought the house was empty.”
I rushed towards the burglar then stopped mid stride; as she pulled out a small gun I raised my hands.
“This does complicate things a little.” She said. “But I came prepared. You just need to strip first.”
A minute later I was standing in the hallway in just my boxers. “OK. Now lie face down, hands on your head.” I assumed the somewhat humiliating position of submission, near naked as this red haired bitch sat on my back and wrenched my arms behind me. I felt as the first ropes bit into my wrists.
The girl was surprisingly strong, her thighs pinning mine as she secured my ankles, then knees. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She whispered, “I just want what’s in the safe.” She fastened my elbows together then picked up one of my discarded socks. “Open up buddy.” She teased.
I clenched my jaw, resisting—until the cold barrel of the gun pressed against my ribs. The fabric tasted bitter, stale sweat filling my mouth as she forced it into my mouth, then wrapped tape tightly round my head. My pulse hammered in my ears, sweat already beading on my bare back.
“Now let’s get you out of the way.”
The girl yanked me upright by the ropes binding my elbows, her grip unrelenting. She shoved me forward—no chance to walk with my ankles lashed together. My balance wobbled as I hopped awkwardly, the gun’s muzzle digging into my spine whenever I faltered. The stairs creaked under our combined weight, each hop sending a jolt of panic through me. At the landing, she steered me toward Charlie’s room with a sharp tug, the scent of lavender polish and Charlie’s perfume hitting me as we crossed the threshold.
She didn’t bother with gentleness. A kick to the back of my knees sent me crashing onto the upholstered chair in front of Charlie’s antique dressing table. The mirror reflected my wide-eyed terror, the sock bulging obscenely behind the tape, my bare chest flushed red. The girl moved fast—rope around my torso, pinning me to the chair’s backrest, then another coil securing my thighs to the seat. Finally my ankles to the crossbar beneath the seat. The knots pulled tight with every exhale, the rough fibres scratching my skin.
Her breath hit my ear, warm and unexpectedly soft. “Don’t try anything cute.” The gun barrel traced the line of my jaw before she stepped away, black-gloved fingers already rifling through Charlie’s jewelry box. Pearls clattered onto the tabletop, gold bracelets slid into her pocket. My muffled protests earned me nothing but a lazy glance in the mirror—her green eyes flicked up, amused. “Relax. By the time she finds you, I’ll be gone.”
The bedroom door clicked shut behind her. Silence, then distant drawers yawning open downstairs, the occasional thud of something heavy hitting carpet. I strained against the ropes, the chair creaking under my weight. The rough ropes bit into my wrists as I twisted, but the knots held. Sweat trickled down my ribs, the tape across my mouth tugging at my skin every time I tried to scream. She was certainly no amateur at knit thing , that was for sure.
Charlie’s bedroom smelled faintly of perfume and dust. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, highlighting the dust floating lazily in the air. My reflection in the mirror looked pathetic—bound, gagged, topless, no trousers and utterly helpless. I could hear her footsteps moving methodically through the house, pauses punctuated by the sound of more valuables being pocketed. A soft *clink*—probably the silverware from the dining room.
.
I wrenched my wrists against the ropes, twisting my torso until my shoulders screamed in protest. My muscles burned as I strained, teeth gritting around the sock in my mouth. The chair creaked ominously, but the knots held firm. Every jerk of my arms only tightened the bonds further. Sweat dripped into my eyes, stinging, blurring my vision. All I had to show for my struggle were raw, red abrasions circling my wrists.
Downstairs, the intruder's footsteps grew louder—she was heading back upstairs. My pulse spiked, thudding painfully as I forced myself still. The bedroom door swung open. She stood there, arms laden with Charlie's jewelry box, a triumphant smirk visible beneath the mask's edge. "Persistent, aren't you?" she mused, nodding at my rope-scorched skin. Her gloved fingers traced the fresh welts, sending a shameful shiver down my spine.
The sudden proximity of her body heat made my breath hitch. "Relax," she murmured, fingertips brushing my ribs where the gun had pressed earlier. "Almost done." She traced a gloved finger round MH left nipple, then kissed me in my gag before leaving me alone as she clumped down stairs.
The front door creaked open. Her leaving, at last-I thought to myself. But no. The burglar cursed, followed by Charlie’s unmistakable voice, sharp and alarmed. "What the hell.” The burglar screamed. Charlie shouted something unintelligible, followed by a crash.
My chest tightened. I thrashed against the ropes, the chair legs scraping against the floor as I rocked violently. The gag muffled my screams to pathetic whimpers. For fifteen, twenty minutes I struggled and strained, scraping my wrists and ankles raw, then the door opened.
Charlie entered. Gone was key blouse and skirt. She wore just her tan tights over a pair of white lace knickers. Her mouth, like mine , was covered with silver tape, and her cheeks bulged. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her chest stuck out more than usual. And those big jugs bounced and swayed with each forced step she took. The burglar entered behind her, pushing her into the room.
Charlie’s eyes met mine, mascara smeared down her checks, tears welling up. Her eyes widened when she saw me, bound and gagged. The burglar shoved her down on top of me, her tree trunk nylon covered thighs crushing mine, her panties crotch on show as her hips spread and the burglar began securing her ankles and knees to the back legs. Charlie was whimpering into her gag as the burglar twisted a rope round her waist, pinning her tummy against my chest. She struggled as the burglar pulled a rope tight around her upper arms and the chair back, forcing her forward, my face thrust between her breasts as the rope was tied it off behind her.
The burglar stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Charlie’s fleshy thighs were firmly clamped either side of mine, our bodies pressed together uncomfortably tight. The ropes creaked as Charlie tried to writhe free, the friction against my bare skin making me wince. The burglar smirked, slapping Charlie’s bottom with her palm. "Behave fatso" she warned. "Or your little friend here gets to watch me do worse to you." As she spanked Charlie’s bum again. “I can hardly miss a target this large.” And with that she grabbed Charlie’s left nipple between thumb and finger then squeezed.
Charlie let out a muffled sob against my chest. I could feel her rapid heartbeat through her ribs, smell the faint floral detergent on her tights as they stretched taut against her wide hips. The burglar circled us slowly, her boots clomping against the floor. She paused behind Charlie, yanking the older woman’s head back by her bun. “Now,” she whispered, I have to leave you and your sone here,. Or is it lover boy.?” And her boots echoed down the stairs till the front door clicked shut.
My cheeks burned as I strained against the ropes, my forehead pressed deeper into Charlie’s cleavage. She squirmed above me, her thighs flexing against mine, the nylon slick with sweat. Our combined weight made the chair groan ominously with every jerk of our bodies. The ropes dug into my ribs, the pressure forcing my breath into shallow gasps. I could see Charlie working up a sweat, drops running between her boobs, her body sliding over mine, the contras with the rough nylon against my legs.
Charlie arched her back suddenly, her muffled groan vibrating through my chest. She was trying to twist her wrists beneath the ropes, her shoulders trembling with the effort. The motion made her breasts press harder against my face. A sharp tug—her head jerked back as she strained against the rope. The scent of her perfume mixed with sweat filled my nostrils, dizzying. And ever time she jerked or wriggled, her boobs slapped against my face. And I could feel something growing between my legs.
Charlie could feel it too, and it seemed to make her wriggle more. And every time she wriggled her boobs slapped my face. And every time her boobs hit me, the thing between my legs grew, and pressed against her crotch through tights and knickers. And every time the bulge grew, Charlie wriggled more.