Amanda Parked by a Halfway House

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Bored housewife kept driving by a halfway house, looking.
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Amanda was so tired of being the good girl. Not just 'a' good girl, THE good girl. Tired of being a good wife, a good mother, a good anything. She felt little in life these days.

But she just didn't know that yet. She was bored alright, and she felt the tiredness, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. There was no reason why she should have been tired of her life except that there was too much comfort- if that was possible. Too much routine, too much suburban living. Too many repetitive chores. She found herself exploring more and more lately. Driving the long way to the store, trying new stores, trying new clothes, new shoes, even test driving cars knowing full well she could never buy one. She hated the family minivan.

"Have you considered taking an art class at the community college?" her husband asked her. He didn't really understand, but he noticed something.

She started observing more, wondering about other people and their lives. What they did. How they lived. She watched people shop and then bought the same exact things they did, just to see how she'd feel about the selection. Why did they pick those brands? Why that ugly green colored skirt? Amanda pondered whether she'd get the same enjoyment if the choice was forced, but she never found a conclusive answer. Were other peoples' lives same as hers? Were they just as bored, just as lacking fulfillment?

One day driving past a side street that she never usually took she realized something. A house she mentally assigned to some old guy whom she'd seen walk out once apparently had a few more guys living with him. Strange.

Next week, Amanda noticed a different set of guys walking out of the house both on her way to the gym and also on the way back. It was puzzling because it obviously wasn't a nuclear family. Chestnut street. How many relatives could possibly live together? Next time she drove by, she parked a few doors down and just watched. Within thirty minutes, she realized there were new faces coming out of the house all the time. So not a nuclear family, and couldn't have been relatives. She shifted to drive and checked her mirrors then drove off. She had a mystery on her hand.

Within days it turned into a stakeout. Amanda laughed at herself as she glanced at the coffee cup she brought. "World's best mom." There were no behavioral patterns she could recognize in any of the men coming in and out of the house, except for that they were all men. They all dressed blue collar, and most carried bags or backpacks with them. On the older side, but there was a few decades' age difference between them. How strange. She kept this up for a few days.

Later at dinner, Amanda nearly swallowed her fork.

Her husband brought up the house on Chestnut street and it caught her completely off guard. She felt guilty even though nothing happened. Was he spying on her? How did he know she went there? Her mind was racing and inventing excuses when finally he explained. They got a warning on their identity protection service about a new offender having moved in the neighborhood. Apparently those types were particularly prone to stealing identities for obvious reasons, her husband explained.

It was a halfway house.

Next day, on the way to grocery shopping, she deliberately took a different way. The mystery was solved. Walking through the store isles she saw a woman buy a pack of knee highs, so she grabbed one herself. Who wears knee highs but grandmas? The woman got a Pyrex dish, but Amanda passed. She then got a whole frozen chicken and filled rest of her cart with carrots and cucumbers. Amanda grabbed those too. What could she cook with them, she wondered, and decided she'd figure it out tonight. She was back on her exploration track.

The halfway house. It came to her mind unbidden. So that's what it was, and it was filled with unsavory characters, and the latest one more unsavory than the others.

Funny, none of those faces she saw looked particularly malicious. Suppose that's something you just couldn't see. Or could you? Could she see evil on a person's face? As she went to check out, she wondered what in god's name would she do with knee highs? Amanda didn't wear them, she wore socks and sneakers to the gym and never hosiery. That part of her exploration adventure could be undone, so she went to put it back. Right next to the package, she saw a pack that froze her glance.

Giant sold thigh highs? Weren't those for whores? She certainly wasn't a grandma. The cashier rang them up for $7.99.

Amanda started the minivan and cranked the A/C to the max. And then she felt something. The first something in a long while. Sure, it wasn't exactly the same product she saw the other woman buy, but, it was close. But she felt a desire to put them on. And with that, she felt a twinge of excitement, a throb, an ache. Thigh highs were sexy, weren't they, and she never wore them. She wasn't a whore. If the other woman had bought them, would that make her a whore?

How would it feel to put them on? Can wearing a costume change who you were? What would wearing thigh highs do to her?

After looking around to make sure she wasn't watched, she kicked off her flats and hiked up her skirt and found out. They were tight. And plain looking. They were dark coffee or chocolate colored, and she could feel the elastic bands strangling her legs as she wore them. It was bizarre, and more bizarre that she liked the feeling. It was something new to her, and so she ran her hands all around and over and between her thighs. God, it made her wet, she realized. She removed her underwear and threw it on the passenger side floorboard and then touched herself.

As she wore them, the thigh highs made her feel the hole they left uncovered, the entire big area between and around her legs. No protection. Nothing there, like as if by design. What did it mean? It was strangely exhilarating.

Amanda couldn't masturbate in the parking lot, so she headed back home. But within a few turns, she had a horrible thought. Why didn't she drive by Chestnut street, just to see if anything looked different, she rationalized to herself. But that's not why she thought about it. She changed her mind, no, why in god's name would she go there, now knowing what that place was? Then her right hand wandered under her skirt and she touched herself as she made a U-turn. Dear god, she was dressed like a whore and wanted to see a pervert, an honest to god pervert. It was like some kind of a demented suburban safari.

She had no idea why she was doing it, but, maybe it excited her to watch dregs of society now that she knew who they were. She parked a few doors down and realized her hand was still twitching under her skirt. No one could see it, so she kept it there.

A man walked out of the house and she wondered, was he the one identity monitoring alerted her husband about? Could you tell by looking? No. Within a few minutes another guy walked out. Was he the pervert? She'd have to ask her husband about the mugshot later. Next guy didn't look like a creep either, and she realized couple of them were handsome. Jesus, that was so low, so unlike her. You can't call terrible people handsome, she balked at herself.

She screamed.

Someone knocked on her passenger window and startled her, her hand flying out of her skirt making it look very obvious it wasn't supposed to be there. Her heart rate hit the ceiling and she put her hand protectively over her chest. She finally got her wits about her and realized a man on the sidewalk had stopped by and knocked. She rolled the window down.

"Are you spying on me?" he asked.

Jesus, she was busted. Amanda's heart raced, and first thing she thought of was two, maybe three lies to get her out of this situation.

"No, who are you?" she replied, her voice cracking.

He looked around and challenged her. "You've been parking here every few days, watching me. Why are you watching me?"

If she could see herself, she'd see her face flush. "No, I'm sorry, I was just looking at the house for sale. Been thinking about buying it."

He looked around again and called her bullshit. "What house? There's nothing for sale here lady."

Amanda double-downed on her previous lie, "Sure there is, it's listed on Zillow."

"On the what?" he wondered. He looked to be about 50, and fit. Maybe he didn't use the internet.

"Zillow, " she replied, "you know, they have house listings like Redfin."

He shook his head. "There's no houses for sale here lady. Why are you watching me?"

She feigned injury, "Not that it's any of your business, but I assure you there's a house listed and I want it. Or at least I did until I found out neighbors were rude."

He chuckled and looked around again. "Heh, fine. Alright, you've convinced me."

"I don't see why you need convincing, I'm minding my own business and you should too," she replied. That was the ticket, keep the upper moral hand, she thought to herself.

"My apologies. You know, it's a great neighborhood. How about if you give me a lift to Ellicott City and I could tell you lots about it."

She felt a mild panic being asked for that. "I don't know..." she started replying.

"Look, if you really want the house, you should know some of its history, " he argued.

If she was going to stick to her lie, that made sense. But she wasn't that attached to it. "Well I'm not going that way," she replied, best she could think of.

"You could. Not like you were going anywhere, being parked here this long. Are you in a hurry somewhere?" he asked.

Amanda hesitated and then told the truth, "No." She was a really bad liar. She should've just rolled up the window and driven off.

"Well, that's great. You won't mind, will you? At my age it's a long walk."

She agreed with him, and then with her inner voice screaming at her, she unlocked the minivan. He opened the door and sat down, and just then she realized her panties were on the floorboard. He closed the door and then didn't buckle himself in. She pointed that out but he just shrugged it away. Fine, so be it. He didn't have to be safe. She put the minivan in gear and drove off.

She asked, "Where in Ellicott City are you going?"

"I'll just show you where to turn, be easier that way," he replied.

Jesus, this was getting out of hand. She quietly drove toward that way and thought. It was going to be a thirty minute drive if she stuck to the back streets, or half that if she took the highway. Highway it was. Picking a route gave her time to think. What the hell was she doing? He was one of the perverts from the halfway house, she was sure of it, and he pressed her into giving him a lift. Wait, her half-baked lie aside, how did he know she was watching the house? His face looked familiar, but obviously she wasn't spying on him, or at him in particular. Or him alone, anyway. She cringed as she realized he noticed her over the past week. Her skin crawled.

Right after the on-ramp, she screamed when she felt his hand land on her knee, and jerked the steering wheel to the side. She gripped it hard in panic and over-corrected to avoid sideswiping a car, and then got back in her lane.

"What are you doing?!" she screamed at him.

"You liar, you have been watching me for weeks," he replied huskily.

Her knuckles white and still too frazzled to let go of the steering wheel in the scary aftermath of a near-collision she demanded, "Get your hand off!"

Instead, his hand went further up and under her skirt, brushing the edge of her thigh high, then stroking the elastic band. Concentrated on the pedals and distracted by the road, she didn't try to kick his hand off. She didn't dare. She glanced at him for a split second and realized to her horror that he was holding her underwear in his other hand. Highway was bent in a steep curve and she had to go back to paying attention to the road for the next few hundred feet. He took his hand off, and she felt safer for the moment. But then she realized he was lifting the center console up and creeping closer to her.

Alarmed, she told him, "Get back to your seat." It was almost a stifled yell.

In response, he put her panties to his nose and took a good whiff.

"Mhhhmhmm, now that's wet," he concluded.

"Put those down!" she yelled at him.

"Now why would I do that? I catch a pretty little woman like you watching me and playing with your pussy and then she invites to give me a lift."

"That's not how it happened," Amanda was insistent. He was the one who invited himself in.

"And I wasn't playing with myself, I just had an itch," she lied.

"Sure. Must have been a long itch, " he replied and then stretched her panties straight out in front of him. There was a visible wet spot on them. The road straightened out, and she reached with her right hand and snatched them away, throwing them in the back seat.

"You're the one who asked for a ride! Why am I even arguing with you on this. I'm pulling over right now," she realized she wasn't acting right in this situation. She should have pulled over without saying anything.

"But we're just an exit away," he told her.

She thought about it for a moment and concluded that it'd be less drama if she just dropped him off where he wanted. Like he said, it was just an exit away.

"Alright."

Few moments later, he asked, "Why'd you take your panties off?"

She decided not to reply.

"You have nice smooth legs," he said and put his hand back on her knee.

"Stop! Get your hand off me!" she demanded and slapped his hand away, red-faced.

"It's just an exit away," he said.

"This one?" she asked, distracted, the exit merely a hundred feet away. She started taking the exit when he said "No, next one."

She looked over her shoulder to check her blindspot and then jerked the wheel onto the rightmost lane. Feeling stupid, she realized his hand was stroking her thigh the entire time.

"Take your hand off my leg!" she demanded, and to her surprise he complied.

By the next exit, she asked him whether to turn left or right. She felt really nervous when he didn't know the answer immediately. Left it is.

As she was making the tricky middle lane turn she felt his hand on her breast and screamed at him at full volume, trying to desperately stay in her lane and not sideswipe anyone. He ignored it all.

"Goddamn, those are some nice titties, " he muttered.

She'd had enough of this creep, and she slapped his hand down angrily and started pulling over once it was clear. "Get out!" she screamed at him, minivan still lurching to a stop.

She wasn't expecting a violent reaction this quickly after lashing out angrily. Normally, people recoil when you're angry at them. Instead of anything she expected, he grabbed her throat with his left hand and poked a finger into her rib cage. His hand felt rough. It hurt, and it scared her being a complete surprise. She brought the minivan to a stop, terrified, and listened to him growl at her.

"You dumb bitch, you say anything, I'll get my knife out and slit you in half like a bag of cement and watch your guts spill out."

Her life flashed before her eyes. She started crying and sobbing, and the grip around her neck only tightened. Fuck that woman, fuck that chicken, fuck the vegetables and the Pyrex bowl, and fuck her knee highs she imitated buying. She felt stupid for making a game out of life, for not taking this situation seriously. Desperate tears came out of her eyes.

"Get back on the road and take the next right, " he told her.

She felt so stupid. Why did she do this to herself, get herself this exposed and vulnerable, all to keep up a weak lie about watching the house? So what if she watched it? She could've just driven off without saying anything.

"It's just a few streets away and then I'll be gone," he promised.

That was actually a relief. She calmed down and drove off, but still he kept his hand around her neck and then his other hand started groping her breasts, at first through the blouse and then underneath.

"Fuck, you have such a nice rack, " he observed, adding "I wanna titty fuck those so bad."

She realized no one ever did that to her before. She did have nice big juicy tits, as her friend put it, nice soft balloons - not too big, not too firm. And yet she never felt a cock between them. She snapped back to reality.

"Please take your hands off me," she pleaded with him, her voice cracking.

"Told you to shut up, didn't I? This is almost over, just a few more streets. Take the next left."

She cried more and swore that after she dropped him off, she'd be so done with being bored. She winced as he pinched her right nipple and then squeezed her breast uncomfortably. It was as if he was playing with rocks, and it felt violating.

"Into this alley?" she asked, her voice struggling under his grip.

"Yeah, in the alley," he confirmed.

But the alley was a dead end. There was nowhere to go. She reached the end and then looked over for instructions. She was relieved that he was going to leave and this terror was finished.

"Put it in park," he told her, and she did.

Dear god, as his hand went under her skirt and started touching her pussy lips she realized she drove him to middle of nowhere, a secluded alley with no one around for blocks. He could grope her here unchecked and no one would hear her screams. She closed her legs together protectively but he growled at her again and squeezed her neck.

He threatened her in more detail, "Bitch, open your legs and you can go home in a few minutes, but you fuck with me and you won't like what happens."

She cried anew, relenting, and closed her eyes and he started fingering her. To her humiliation, she was wet and when she discovered it felt pleasurable, she started crying harder.

"Fuck, I love your outfit. Only whores wear thigh highs," he told her.

She wanted to tell him about her impulsive purchase and explain herself, but she knew it wouldn't go anywhere. She wasn't a whore. It was all just a stupid boredom. An exercise in thought, a boredom. Couldn't he understand that? She just wanted him to get out, for this to be over. He said this was where he needed a ride to, so why won't he just leave?

"Take your bra off," he told her. When she hesitated, he started doing it for her. Not wanting him to rip it apart, she dove into her blouse and unclasped it, letting it slide down in place.

He seemed to enjoy watching her do it, "Damn, that's it girl, you really want it, huh."

She started replying "No, -" but he cut her off by taking her hand and putting it over his bulge. Her hand recoiled, but he guided it right back on it. With his hand over hers, he rubbed himself. He was really hard.

"C'mon, jerk me off," he told her.

When she did nothing and said nothing, he gripped her neck harder.

"Bitch, just jerk me off and I'll leave you alone," he promised her. She continued sobbing.

He provided a stick, "If you don't jerk me off, I'll tie you up with rebar wire and fuck your ass instead."

She needed a reassurance between sobs, "Promise you'll let me go after?"

"What do you mean let you go? I'm the one who's in your van. I'll just walk out. C'mon, jerk me off. Go ahead and unzip me and take it out."

Amanda suddenly realized she agreed to jerking him off.

Her mind blank, assurance of being left alone, she did as he asked. It took two hands for her to unzip him and he released his grip on her neck as she did it. He wore black underwear, stained with white streaks, and his cock popped into view clearly. She hoped his hand wouldn't leave a mark, she had enough to explain already. Wait, that didn't make any sense. Explain what to whom? She couldn't tell anyone what happened. He was hard and had a big cock. She stared stroking it, and he let go of her neck, closing his eyes and leaning back.

He encouraged her, "Fuck yeah, just like that." He unbuttoned her blouse while she stroked him and her naked breasts fell out.

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