The Good Neighbour Ch. 01

Steven had not cleared his browsing history and Beatrice soon found that her nephew had quite the penchant for videos of attractive mature women dressed in lingerie or being fucked in their underwear. He liked to visit 'mother and son' sites, 'mature women and teen' pages and similar websites.

Further investigation revealed the plastic bag filled with panties, stockings, pantyhose and even a satin half-slip. All appeared to be stained with her nephew's semen; some were disgustingly crusty. She recognised some of the hosiery that she had thrown out, even a pair of her own discarded knickers. She guessed the remainder of the lingerie had likely been pilfered from laundry baskets or snowdropped.

Beatrice knew that young men often developed fetishes, which continued on into adulthood: high heels, latex and rubber, leather and so on. Steven obviously had a fetish for hosiery, panties and lingerie, and a penchant for mature women.

"Interesting," she had smiled to herself as she had logged off her nephew's computer all those weeks ago.

She heard the door to Steven's bedroom close and then lock as she made her way upstairs. She was careful not to snag her Christian Louboutin high heels on the stairway runner. Beatrice may have been approaching middle age but she still took care of herself and always dressed immaculately even if just going shopping on the high street.

She was wearing full makeup with dark eyes and bright-red lipstick; her brunette hair was coiffed in ringlets around her attractive face. Beatrice was dressed in a tight-fitting satin blouse that emphasised her large breasts, she had a little potbelly, not much, and it actually rounded out her figure. Her best feature, her long toned legs and tight buttocks, were sheathed in black lycra leggings. Underneath she wore flesh-toned sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose with no panties underneath. The pantyhose made it easier to slip in and out of her leggings, kept her legs a little warmer, and served the purpose of underwear. She eschewed panties when wearing leggings or tights because they created a visible panty line and spoiled the effect.

Beatrice found the door to her bedroom closed. She had left it ajar when she went out to run her errands. She entered the room and closed the door behind her, sliding the lock into place.

She instinctively knew that Steven had been in her room again, the faint musky odour of semen assailed her nostrils. She felt herself becoming a little wet. Beatrice strode over to her ensuite bathroom and inspected it closely. The stockings she had worn the day before were still hanging over the shower-rail and appeared untouched likewise the garments in her laundry bin.

When she came out of the bedroom she noticed a smear marring the sheen of the polished wooden floor by the window. She might not have noticed it but it was accentuated by the waning afternoon light. She walked over and studied it.

Whatever had caused the smudge had been hastily cleaned up and was quickly drying. Then she spied a small gobbet of glutinous white fluid. She smiled and bent down and scooped it up with her fingertip; she tentatively sniffed it and then bought it to her mouth and licked it off her finger.

Now she was definitely wet.

It was semen, fresh semen, her nephew's semen, Steven's semen.

She imagined him in her bedroom masturbating with her stockings or pantyhose, sniffing her knickers. She rubbed at her pubis as she imagined herself lying on the bed as he masturbated before her. She reached out and took his turgid manhood into her fingers; the nails painted bright red. Steven groaned as she squeezed him.

Beatrice pushed the fabric of her leggings and pantyhose into her quim and felt the heat of her sex as she rubbed at it.

Steven was shivering with lust as she began to stroke him.

"Fuck!" Beatrice gasped, frustrated as she tried to work on her vulva through the layers of lycra and nylon.

She put her hand inside her leggings but the waistband bit into her wrist.

"Fuck! Fuck!" her fantasy was melting away.

She yanked her leggings down her thighs bunching them at the top of her knees. Her legs buckled as she pushed two fingers into her cunt, parting her labia and thrumming her clitoris in its little hood. She had to hold onto the bedside table as waves of pleasure radiated from her sex. She poked two fingers into her vagina and caressed her clitoris with her thumb; the reek of her vaginal juices assailed her nose.

She tottered on her heels and collapsed to her knees when she orgasmed, biting her lip so she wouldn't scream.

In her fantasy Steven was ejaculating. Streams of scalding semen splashing on her legs, her belly and then her face.

"Oh my god!" she hissed through gritted teeth.

Beatrice pulled herself up onto the bed as her orgasm began to subside. She was breathing erratically and the scent of vaginal secretions had mingled with the vestige of Steven's spend. The reek of it was nearly enough to make her want to start pleasuring herself all over again but she knew that she shouldn't.

She glanced out the window.

Her peculiar neighbour, Miz Abigail Thompson, was staring up at her.

Then...

Mary was waiting for Robert Brinkley in the small office. She was lying on the mattress dressed only in her knickers, bra, suspender belt and panties, all red satin with black lace trim. Clipped to the suspenders were black, fifteen-denier, fully-fashioned stockings and her feet were shod in black high-heels. The only other garment she wore was a black see-through lace negligee. Her makeup and hair were perfect and her costume jewellery glimmered in the dim light of the single desk lamp.

Her costume for the play was neatly folded on a shelf. The prop department did not supply the lingerie she was wearing, Robert had bribed a guard to bring him in sexy lingerie and hosiery in Mary's size.

When Robert came through the door he was hot for her as usual and she was hot for him. Mary knew that Robert had become infatuated with her. But Robert had no time for Murray Reynolds and went out of his way to avoid him but when Murray was transformed into Mary, Robert hardly let her out of his sight. She liked the power that she held over him, she also liked the sex because it was illicit and exciting and it made her feel feminine.

Robert shucked off his clothes, Mary opened her arms and Robert fell into them, lying on top of her, rubbing his cock against hers swathed in luxurious satin, kissing her passionately. She opened her mouth so he could put some tongue to her and felt herself becoming erect; she was not tucked or gaffed. She reached between their bodies and found him hard and ready and she squeezed him when she slipped her tongue into his mouth.

She knew that she could make him come just like that, but they had only a little time and she had no intention of wasting a perfectly good erection.

Mary pushed him off her and he whined; but only a little because he knew what she was going to do when they exchanged places and she straddled him, leaning down to kiss him.

She had douched and was pre-lubricated in anticipation of the afternoon's circumstance. Robert probed at her panty-clad buttocks impatiently with his cock and Mary impetuously reached behind herself and guided him inside her panty crotch and nestled his glans in her sphincter. She held him down on the mattress to stop him thrusting and slowly impaled herself on his rampant organ until it was buried to the hilt inside her.

They hadn't had sex for two days because the production did not rehearse over the weekend so Robert was impatient. Mary remained sitting on him, pressing down on his groin so that he was unable to thrust. She pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shh. Be patient lover. Let me do the work," she smiled down at him.

Mary leaned forward and kissed him and began to slowly raise and lower her buttocks. She was really just pleasuring herself but Robert also reaped the benefits as she lifted herself up until just the glans of his penis was enveloped in the tight ring of her sphincter, which invoked a glorious tingling sensation. Then she lowered herself so that Robert's cock was brutally buried all the way inside her, the shaft caressed by her firm anal walls and the bulbous head pressing on her prostate.

Neither was going to last long, which was just as well as Mary had very little time before she was required to be at rehearsals and he for work.

Robert held onto Mary by the hips and let her do all the work, building the tempo, squeezing his phallus with her anus. They were both panting and groaning and approaching release. Mary fell forward and kissed Robert passionately as he gripped her tight at the waist and spent himself inside her. Mary shuddered and ejaculated between their pressed bellies. The musky odour of semen wafted to their noses and they both smiled and kissed each other tenderly now that their lust was sated.

Mary allowed Robert a little post-coital after-play but her mind was already on the scene she would rehearse today. Robert whispered endearments into her ear and kissed and stroked her lovingly.

During their extended lovemaking sessions Robert had started to talk to Mary like she was his girlfriend, telling her his life story and how he had come to be imprisoned. She feigned interest but her ears picked up when he started talking about his boss, Larry 'The Loop' Connelly, and the small fortune that Larry had stored in a lockup under a railway overpass.

When Robert Brinkley wasn't collecting debts or bonking heads for Larry Connelly, he was responsible for Larry's security and the security of his property. Like most men smitten with a woman, Robert liked to brag. He told Mary about the cash and loot that Larry kept hidden away. Larry's residence and office were continually raided and his books forensically audited by London's finest, looking for any evidence they could find to put Larry away. For that reason Larry kept large amounts cash, stolen luxury vehicles and jewellery at various secret locations until he could truck the ill-gotten gains into Europe and dispose of it, washing the proceeds through his prestige used car lots.

The shipment was consolidated in the lockup under the railway overpass overnight before being loaded into a lorry that drove the loot into France through the Channel tunnel.

Whilst out on work release Murray scouted out the lockup and sure enough it appeared that Robert Brinkley was telling the truth. Murray also checked on Barry Pinkerton's stash of ready cash too, it was held in a safe deposit box in a London bank. Both Barry and Murray had keys to the box.

"I'm worried about you Murray," Barry Pinkerton said to him one day in the yard.

"I've seen you dressed as a woman and you seem to like it too much, you're too convincing for it just to be a part in a play. There's rumours going around about you too," Barry drew on his cigarette.

"You're not turning into some sort of deviate noncer are you?" Barry said through gritted teeth.

"Far from it Barry; I'm using it to our advantage. You know that tosser Robert Brinkley?" Murray drew on his cigarette.

"Works for Larry the Loop. He's coming up for work release the same time as me," Barry's replied, his interest piqued.

"I'm stringing him along. Milking him for information," Murray went on.

"You're not milking him of anything else are you?" Barry chuckled bitterly.

"Barry. He's told me where Larry's lockup is, where he keeps his stash before he transships it into Europe. I've checked it out and it's legit," Murray whispered coarsely.

"Fuck me Murray, you have been a naughty boy while you've been outside," Barry grinned.

"And I have a plan. It's a little distasteful on my part but for you and the boys it's just a simple blag. We take one of Larry's big shipments. The fucking lot; the cash, the motors, the bling... whatever he's got in that fucking lockup," Murray grinned.

"And you're going to find out about the shipment from Robert Brinkley," Barry chuckled.

"I'm going to do more than that. I'm going to ahem... distract our Bobby while you and the firm rob Larry the Loop of everything in that lockup."

"And is Robert Brinkley going to grass on us? I don't think so," Murray continued.

"What's he going to say? 'Sorry Larry I was passing time with a transvestite ladyboy I met in prison while your shipment got nicked?'" Murray chuckled.

"Sounds like you have it all figured Murray. Just one thing. You're not... you know... doing anything with him are you? You don't actually like dressing like a girl and sucking cock?" Barry looked down at his boots.

"Course not Barry. It's a means to an end. That tosser is infatuated with me when I'm dressed up as Mary so I'm stringing him along, using him," Murray told a half-truth.

"All right then. Let's sort out the details later," Barry Pinkerton replied, but he was not really convinced that Murray was only dressing like a woman to organise a blag.

But when Barry thought about it in the cold light of day, what did he care if Murray liked to dress like a woman and take it up the wrong 'un? There were far worse happenings in the world. Besides, it was a strange world out there now. There were gender benders everywhere and men were marrying men for fuck sake. Barry would stick to teenage girls, which were his preference. He liked 'em young but legal, preferably dressed as schoolgirls or teenyboppers. 'We all have our own peccadilloes' he thought to himself.

Murray started making his own secret arrangements as soon as he was released from prison.

He acquired an extensive ladies wardrobe for himself and transformed into Mary every chance he could, but alone in his little bedsit at first. He desperately wanted to take Mary out on the town and wouldn't have minded a little 'rumpy-pumpy' with a stranger or two at one of the venues he knew catered to transvestites and their admirers, but that could wait. If his plan came off he would be able to live full-time as a woman for as long as he wanted to. If it backfired he would be back in prison or worse.

There were a few errands that Murray could only undertake as his alter ego Mary. Mary was nervous but thrilled to be out and about in public and once she was confident that she could reasonably pass as a woman, she went to work.

Mary stood out the front of a dodgy looking dilapidated building in a back street of Moulsham. The alley was dark and strewn with abandoned shopping trolleys, junk food wrappers, empty beer cans and bottles, cigarette butts, and condom wrappers. The alley was obviously used by the local streetwalkers for their assignations.

Mary knocked on a door caked with fading and peeling blue paint. It was opened by the contact Murray had been given through a reliable source. He was a forger and counterfeiter by the name of John Benstead. John was married to a transsexual senior flight attendant named Candace Pops who worked for Goldwing Airlines. It was rumoured that she also did a little smuggling for a well-known gangster named Tony Carlotta.

John Benstead looked to be in his early sixties. His long blonde hair was thinning and greying but he was still tanned, muscular and handsome. He was wearing his usual attire, tight jeans and tighter T-shirt.

"You must be Mary," he offered his hand and pulled her inside.

He checked both ways in the alley before he closed the door firmly behind him.

"I could move to better digs, it's not like Candi and I can't afford it but having my workshop in this dingy alley is a great cover that keeps the coppers away," he smiled.

He might be operating out of the dodgiest area of Chelmsford but he had obviously spent a lot of money looking after himself and by the look of that tan, a lot of time in Spain or the Caribbean.

Mary looked around the warehouse. Inside it looked nothing like the outside. It was clinically spotless and all of the equipment was brand new.

"So what can I do for you Mary?" John took her coat and hung it on a mahogany coat rack.

Mary sat down on an expensive leather couch, folding her skirt under her and crossing her ankles.

"I know you work for Tony Carlotta but I know you also do freelance work," Mary came straight to the point.

"I know that you have past experience providing false identity documents to men who wish to present as women, your good lady wife being a case in point before she went legit. I need a passport, a driver's licence and some other documents that will identify me as a Miz Abigail Thompson."

"I also need your absolute trust that you will keep my new identity secret. I will pay you in cash and once I have the documents you will never see me again," Mary shifted a little nervously in the seat.

She reached into her handbag and took out Murray Reynolds' passport.

John thumbed his way through the document.

"You wouldn't believe this but you are the third trans woman I have helped switch identities. As you know it's how I met my wife Candi," John grinned.

"Also another woman named Valerie Swindon who I doubt you have ever met," his smile widened.

"I only know of your wife and that's only because we have similar business associates shall we say," Mary smiled at him.

"Technology has come a long way since those days, both the security embedded in the documents and the technology I use to replicate it. I have to use an embedded microchip with your biometric data and the passport has to be for all intents and purposes a legal document," John continued.

"Ok John. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. How much for the documents and your complete silence?" Mary gave him her best smile and allowed her skirt to ride up a little.

"Ten thousand pounds luv. And pull down your skirt, I love shagging trannies but there is no way I'm putting my relationship with Candi in jeopardy," John's smile disappeared.

"Done," Mary rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it on the table.

"Use the same data as on my original documents except for my name and sex of course. The address on the driver's licence won't matter because I'm moving soon so I'll update the address after I move," Mary said.

"Why Abigail Thompson?" John asked.

"Why not? It's a totally random name that came to me on my way here. No will ever connect it to my real name," Mary made to get up off the couch.

John helped her up and then pulled her into his arms.

"You are very passable and absolutely stunning. If I was half my age and wasn't married to Candi I'd be up you like a rat up a drain pipe," he grinned.

"What makes you think I'd let you?" Mary grinned back at him.

"You're gagging for it luv," John let go of her.

He took several photos of her wearing a black wig with his digital photography equipment and told her to collect the documents the following week, which she did.

Murray had taken twenty-five grand from Barry Pinkerton's safe deposit box to help pay for his new identity documents. Dressed enfemme and using her new identity Mary opened bank accounts in the name of Abigail Thompson and then went searching for a place to live.

By the time Barry Pinkerton and Robert Brinkley were granted work release Murray Reynolds was ready to spend his last few days as a man before both Murray and Mary Reynolds disappeared off the face of the earth and Abigail Thompson emerged in the small neat little town of Brookhaven in Cornwall.

To be continued