The Domination the Neighbor Had Prepared for Him

I left the house midmorning with a canvas tote in one hand and the shopping list in the other. The neighborhood was quiet, with that soft rustle of leaves, distant engines, and children playing that usually gives you a sense of safety. I crossed the square thinking about lunch and nothing else.

That was when I saw him.

I had passed him a few minutes earlier, near the ice cream shop, and even then he had struck me as odd. A slovenly-looking man, rather stocky, with a short beard, sports clothes, and a stare that was too fixed, too deliberate. He wasn’t a father waiting for someone; he was the kind of man who watches as if he’s choosing.

When I came out of the corner store with my groceries, I saw him again. This time he was walking quickly beside a young woman from the building next door, a girl who was already an adult and whom I knew by sight because she lived with her older sister. She seemed uncomfortable, almost dragged along by the arm, and he turned his head once to check whether anyone was following him.

At that moment I knew something was wrong.

I dropped the bag on the sidewalk and started following them. There was no one around. Not a cop, not a doorman, not a neighbor looking out a window. I could feel my pulse in my throat and my mouth going dry, but I kept walking faster and faster.

He noticed too. He quickened his pace and yanked the woman roughly. She stumbled. I started running.

—Let her go! —I shouted, though my voice came out rough, almost broken.

He didn’t let her go. He tried to turn into a side street, but I was already on him. I grabbed his shoulder, pulled with all my strength, and the girl used the chance to break free. I told her to go, to run and get help. I didn’t wait to see if she obeyed.

The man tried to shove me off and run. I chased him half a block and threw myself on him from behind. We both hit the ground. He snorted, cursed, tried to get up, but I was beside myself.

I slapped him so hard I turned his face. Then I slapped him again.

—Pig —I spat at him—. I saw you. Don’t take me for an idiot.

I dragged him as best I could into a narrow alley between two buildings. I didn’t think too much; I acted with a mix of rage and a dark urge rising up from my gut. The guy stumbled, complained, tried to wriggle free, but I shoved him against the wall and made him fall on his ass onto the dirty concrete.

I tore off his sweatshirt, got his arms behind his back, and tied them hard. He wasn’t fully immobilized, but he was restrained enough for him to understand he was no longer in charge. That was the first thing that turned me on: seeing him go from confident to scared in less than a minute.

It wasn’t something I’d ever imagined before, but there, seeing him tied up and breathing like a cornered animal, I felt something raw in my body. Not desire for him. Desire for control.

—What were you going to do to her? —I asked, leaning over his face.

—Nothing... I didn’t do anything... you’re crazy.

I punched him in the mouth. I split his lip and saw the blood right away.

—Lie to me again and it’ll hurt more.

Fear changed his face. He no longer looked aggressive or sly. He looked like a coward sweating against a wall. I crouched, pulled his athletic pants down and then his underwear. He resisted just enough to earn a kick to the thigh.

—Spread your legs.

—No...

I drove the toe of my shoe between his legs, barely grazing his balls. The man gave a strangled moan and obeyed. That surrender made me clench my teeth. I wasn’t enjoying the pain for its own sake; I was enjoying humiliating him, degrading him, turning him into the trembling thing he truly was.

—That’s better. Now you actually look like what you are.

I grabbed his sex with one hand. It was soft, shriveled by fear. I squeezed it without any tenderness, as if I were inspecting a cut of meat. He gasped, twisting.

—Please...

—Don’t say please. Not yet.

I gave him the first kick straight in the balls. It was dry, direct. The impact shot through his whole body. He let out a hoarse cry and arched his back, but the wall held him up. I stood there staring for a second, breathing hard, watching his eyes go cloudy.

Then came the second kick, harder.

This time his breath cut off. He opened his mouth as if he were going to vomit. I felt a wet heat between my legs, a clear throb in my cunt, an unexpected need. Rage was mixing with a rough excitement I wasn’t ashamed to admit.

—That’s what they should do to every fucking bastard like you —I told him.

I hit him again. I didn’t lose count out of cruelty, but because each kick drained me a little more and lit me up at the same time. The pain was taking him apart and my body was reacting to that power. He wasn’t arguing anymore. He was moaning, whimpering, begging me to stop.

I crouched again and lifted his chin.

—Look at me when I’m talking to you.

I grabbed his scrotum with my whole hand and squeezed. I felt the weight, the taut skin, the involuntary tremble in his legs. I pulled downward. The man let out a wrecked squeal.

—That’s it. I want to hear you like that.

At the far end of the alley another woman appeared. Tall, dark pants, light shirt, hair tied back under a cap. She stood there watching for two seconds, assessing the scene. I didn’t let go of the man.

—What’s going on here? —she asked.

—This pig tried to drag off a girl from the neighborhood. He was forcing her.

The woman didn’t hesitate. She came closer, looked him over from head to toe, and spat at his feet.

—No wonder he’s screaming like that.

She stood beside me and covered his mouth with one hand so he wouldn’t make a bigger scene. With the other she grabbed his face, forcing him to stay still. I kept pulling on his balls, twisting them with my fingers, enjoying the veins standing out in his neck.

—Squeeze harder —she told me, calm.

I did as she said. I twisted my wrist and the man almost passed out from the pain.

The newcomer lowered her eyes to the bruising mass between his legs and smiled with a cold hardness I understood instantly. She wasn’t scandalized. She was just as willing as I was.

—Let me try —she said.

I stepped back half a pace. She knelt in front of him and held his sex between two fingers, with no care at all. She tapped his face with the tip of the glans and then spit on it.

—This was supposed to scare someone? —she mocked him—. You’re not even good for pig.

She took him into her mouth just at the tip, only enough to humiliate him. There was no desire in her gesture, only pure domination. She ran her tongue over the glans, looked him in the eye, and bit down slowly. The man gave a full-body jolt and I felt my own sharp, brutal spasm of pleasure.

—Hold his head —she asked me.

I grabbed his hair from behind. She took him into her mouth again, deeper this time, but without caressing him, without giving him any relief. She sucked him with dry aggression, alternating sucks with little bites and tugs that tore panicked moans out of him. This wasn’t a blowjob to turn him on; it was a blowjob to make it clear that even his cock belonged to us.

—Look how he’s shaking —she said, standing up—. Give him another kick.

I kicked him again.

The guy folded over, already crying without shame. The sight of that man reduced, naked from the waist down, bleeding from the lip and begging, made me so hot I had to press my thighs together. My breathing had changed; I could feel it in my nipples, hard under the dress, and in my cunt, pulsing.

The other woman looked at me and understood before I said anything.

—It turns you on to have him like this, doesn’t it?

I didn’t answer right away. I lowered my gaze to him, to his fear, his helplessness, his shame.

—Yes —I admitted—. A lot.

She gave the slightest smile.

—Then use it.

Her words gave me permission. I hiked my skirt up a little, slipped my hand under my underwear, and touched myself over my clit. I was soaked. The contact ripped a sigh from me that I didn’t try to hide.

The man looked at me, confused, terrified.

—Don’t look away —I ordered him—. You’re going to watch what your shit caused.

I rubbed myself in front of him, slowly at first, then with more pressure. Every one of his moans, every shudder when the other woman squeezed his nipples or pinched his scrotum, drove me higher. It wasn’t tenderness or seduction; it was dirty masturbation, fed by absolute domination.

—Tell me what you are —I said, panting.

—No... please...

The redhead slapped him hard, the sound crisp.

—Answer.

—I’m... I’m a pig.

—Louder.

—I’m a pig!

I shoved two fingers into my cunt when I heard him. They slid in easily, gliding through all that wetness. My knees buckled a little with pleasure and I had to brace myself against the wall. The other woman kept working him over: she tugged his cock, slapped it against his belly, squeezed his swollen balls until he yelped.

—Now tell her who you obey —I said.

—You.

—No. Your mistress.

He nodded at me with his chin. I felt a jolt of electricity run up my spine.

—My mistress —he repeated, crying.

I came with those fingers inside me and my breath torn apart, shaking against the alley wall. It wasn’t a soft or pretty orgasm. It was an intense, hot, almost furious convulsion, my eyes locked on his ruined face. When I finished, I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked them while never taking my eyes off him.

—We’re not done with you yet —I said.

***

The woman in the cap introduced herself as Lidia. We exchanged little more than names and a rough kind of complicity in a glance. Sometimes that’s enough. Between the two of us we got him better positioned against the wall and spread his legs wider.

—I want to see if he still responds when he’s used the way he deserves —Lidia said.

I nodded.

She knelt again and this time did take him deeper. She wrapped the base with her hand while her mouth moved up and down in a firm, wet, cruel rhythm. The cock, against all logic, began to harden. Not from clean pleasure, but from that sick mix of fear, pain, and stimulation.

—Look at him —I said with contempt—. Even for this he’s trash. He likes it.

Lidia pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet sound and slapped his face with it.

—Of course he likes it. He gets turned on by not being able to do anything.

She spat on him again and kept sucking him. She massaged the glans with her tongue while her other hand crushed his inflamed balls. The contrast between pleasure and pain was driving him crazy. He moaned, writhed, tried to pull his hips away and couldn’t.

I took off my underwear and stuffed it into his mouth to shut him up better. He was left with my damp fabric between his teeth, breathing through his nose, moaning against it. The sight was so obscene it made me touch myself again.

—Fuck my hand —I ordered, grabbing his cock when Lidia pulled away.

I moved it up and down without any tenderness, squeezing harder than I would have with a man I cared about. He thrust reflexively. I slapped him.

—Slowly. Only when I want.

Lidia hiked her dress up to her thigh, positioned herself beside him, and rubbed her foot between his legs. The sole grazed his perineum first, then gently crushed his balls, just enough to keep him on the edge of a hysterical moan.

—Make him come —she said—. I want him to come while I crush his shame.

I stood in front of him. I grabbed his chin and brought my face close to his.

—You’re going to come when I order you to. And if you do it before that, I’ll tear this off with my hand. Understand?

He nodded as best he could.

I jerked him off for a while that felt thick and arousing. Sometimes I eased up to drive him frantic. Sometimes I sped up and watched him lose control. Lidia alternated her foot, her hand, and her mouth: a quick lick to the tip, a brief bite, a ferocious squeeze to the scrotum. Each stimulus pushed him a little closer.

I was very wet again. I leaned in and rubbed his glans against the entrance to my cunt without letting him in. I just dragged it along my lips, soaking him further, marking the boundary.

He moaned through my underwear.

—Don’t even dream about it —I murmured—. I’m not giving you that pleasure.

Instead of riding him, I slid one hand between my legs and opened myself a little for Lidia.

—Put two fingers in me.

She obeyed at once. She had long, skillful, sure fingers. They went into my cunt while I kept stroking the man’s cock. The contrast almost made me buckle. I was wanking him while another woman finger-fucked me in front of his face. All under my command, all with him reduced to instrument and witness.

—Like that —I panted—. Deeper.

Lidia finger-fucked me with three fingers and found my rhythm immediately. She pulled them almost all the way out and shoved them back in hard, wet, while the heel of her hand brushed my clit. I could barely coordinate my breathing. With my other hand I kept bringing the man’s cock to the edge, feeling it hard and hot, throbbing.

—Look at her —I told him—. Look how hot I get from having you tied up.

Lidia kissed my neck, then my jaw. She bit me softly and kept finger-fucking me. I moved my hand faster over the man’s cock. He was already on the brink; you could see it in the spasms, in the tension in his belly, in the desperate way he involuntarily pushed.

—Don’t come —I ordered him.

And of course that pushed him further.

Lidia squeezed his balls with her whole hand at the same time I was milking his cock. The man let out a long, hot moan into my underwear. I felt the first jet of semen splash my fingers. I didn’t give him any pause: I kept jerking him off through the whole orgasm, forcing him to come hard, in jolts, until he emptied out with his body shaking from the pain.

—Disgusting —I said, watching the semen run down his belly—. Even like this you’re still trash.

I came almost at the same time for the second time. Lidia had hold of my waist and was still sliding her fingers in and out while I squeezed the sensitive, half-erect cock of the man. The orgasm hit fast, built up from everything before, and made me moan against her shoulder. When it passed, I leaned against her chest, breathing hard.

We looked at each other with a short, conspiratorial smile, more animal than kind.

—Now we just need to humiliate him properly —Lidia said.

***

I don’t know how long it took for other women to come over. First a neighbor I recognized from the back building, then a delivery woman, then two more who had heard shouting and looked in. No one defended the man when they found out what he had tried to do. The disgust was immediate and shared.

Together we dragged him out of the alley and back to the edge of the square. He was still half naked, with his hands tied behind his back, his balls red and swollen, semen drying on his stomach. On all fours, he stopped looking like a person and became a symbol of his own filth.

They wrote insults on his back with a marker someone brought from a nearby shop. Another woman filmed him. Another threw water on him to keep him awake. I held him by the hair.

—Lift your head —I told him—. Let them see you properly.

One of the women slapped him. Another pinched his nipples until they reddened. Lidia stood in front of him and ordered him to stick out his tongue. When he obeyed, she spat on it.

I should have felt satisfied, but no. The rage was still there, mixed with the excitement, asking for a final gesture of power. This wasn’t about conventional sex; it was about something more primal and darker: using him, exposing him, marking him.

I got behind him and grabbed his balls again. They felt heavier from the swelling. He moaned as soon as he felt my hand.

—Listen to me carefully —I whispered in his ear—. Today you’re never going to forget us.

Lidia held my gaze, understanding without questions. She came closer, took his jaw, and forced him to stay still. Another woman took out her phone to call emergency services, but no one asked me to ease up.

I pulled on his scrotum downward, slowly at first, feeling his whole body tense. Then I started twisting with controlled force, aiming for pain only, only punishment. The man howled. His cock, absurd and shameful, reacted with a partial, spasmodic erection, as if his body were too stupid to tell terror from arousal.

—Look at him —I said, disgusted—. And he still gets hard.

The others insulted him. Lidia slapped his face.

I kept twisting. He came again, a weak, involuntary orgasm provoked by the sheer loss of control in his body. Semen dripped to the ground as he screamed. That didn’t give me pleasure this time, but a rough feeling of closure, as if his degradation were complete.

I loosened my hand just as I heard sirens in the distance.

I let him go and he collapsed onto his side, panting, curled up awkwardly, defeated. He no longer looked like a hunter or a dangerous man. He was a trembling mass, humiliated, exposed before all the people who were beginning to gather around.

I straightened my dress, reached in memory for my underwear lying on the alley floor, and took a deep breath. My legs were weak and my body was still vibrating from the orgasms, from the adrenaline, from the violence that had just gone through me.

Lidia came over to me.

—Are you okay?

I looked at her for a second before answering.

—Yes. Now I am.

The ambulance and the police arrived almost together. They asked us questions. The young woman managed to return with her sister and confirm enough. While they took the man away, he didn’t even meet my eyes. Better. He had already learned where he stood.

That night, alone in my bed, I thought again about the alley, about his screams, about the exact instant he understood he controlled nothing. I slipped my hand between my legs and came again remembering it, not because he desired me, but because I had completely dominated him.

He had nothing left of the predator. We turned him into prey, into a toy, into an example. And to my own surprise, he left me with a wet, ferocious truth throbbing between my legs: some punishments also awaken hunger.