by Ray Gordon
Unable to tear his eyes off her panties, Arthur moved a little closer. Emily's thighs lazily lolled a little further apart as she smoothed her auburn hair back with one hand and tried to focus on her looming neighbour. With the flimsy white material covering her sex barely wide enough to conceal the fleshy swell of her lips, the buttons of her blouse straining to contain the ripeness of her breasts, and her leather miniskirt riding higher up her thighs until it was almost little more than a belt, she held her hand to her head as the room span. Was Arthur really so angry with her for being a little late getting home? What was he thinking as he stared at her? Was he really going to tell on her to her parents?
'Look at the way you're dressed,' he said disapprovingly, dragging his eyes away from the delicate swell of her panties. 'You look like a... like a...'
'You sound just like my father,' she giggled, hauling herself upright and crossing her legs, her thighs whispering together in a way that drew Arthur's dark stare to them. 'What's the matter with the way I look?'
'This is serious, Emily,' he said. 'I'll have to note this in the report book.'
'Report book?' she echoed, sobering up as she realised he was serious.
'Your parents left at six, and three quarters of an hour later you went out dressed like a... like a tart. You then come home drunk at eleven-thirty. Your mother specifically said she wanted you home by ten.'
'Arthur, I'm not drunk,' Emily said, suddenly feeling uneasy about him and his mood.
'Your parents trusted you, Emily. And this is how you repay them.'
'It's hardly late,' she countered. 'I'm eighteen, Arthur. I'm an adult, not a child.'
'It doesn't matter how old you are. This is your parents' house, and you have to abide by their rules while you're living here. Now, you'd better get to bed. We'll discuss this further tomorrow.'
Waiting until she heard the front door close, Emily dragged herself up from the sofa and climbed the stairs. This had been the last thing she'd expected. Collapsing on her bed, she lay on her back and watched the ceiling spinning round, wishing she'd not drunk all that vodka. What was the matter with Arthur? What had come over him? He needed to chill out a bit. A report book? What crap. She was eighteen and a university student, not a schoolgirl. With her eyes drifting closed, she hoped this was just a bad dream as she fell asleep.
The morning came all too quickly. Her head pounding, her miniskirt rucked up around her hips, Emily sat upright and looked around her bedroom. Thoughts of Arthur filtering into her mind as sleep left her, she knew she'd not been dreaming. Realising that he must have been looking out for her, waiting for her to come home, she couldn't understand his attitude. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on her, not behaving like a Victorian schoolmaster.
Taking a shower, Emily knew she was going to have to talk to him. Perhaps he'd been in a bad mood and took it out on her. A report book? Sure that he hadn't been serious as she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her curvaceous body, she thought back a few years. Arthur had once told her not to worry when her parents forbade her to wear a short skirt. He'd chatted to her, listened and understood. He'd often taken her aside and explained that she wouldn't always be under the restrictions of her parents. So why the sudden change now?
Slipping into her bra and knickers, she sat at her dressing table and dried her hair. At least the university had broken up for the summer. She couldn't have faced lectures on business studies with her head aching like it was. And she felt nauseous, too. Deciding to have a quiet day before going out with Christine again that evening, she knew she was going to have to be careful. Perhaps she should leave the house by the backdoor and sneak down the path to the alleyway. Arthur's office was upstairs at the front of his house, overlooking the street. He'd not be watching from the back windows.
Hearing the doorbell, she slipped into her dressing gown and went downstairs. Reckoning that Christine had called round for a coffee and a chat, she was surprised to find Arthur standing on the porch step. He'd come to apologise, she was sure as she invited him in and offered to put the kettle on. She reckoned he'd thought about the previous evening and realised he'd gone over the top.
'About last night,' he began. Was there an apology in his expression?
'I was rather late,' she acknowledged, plugging in the kettle and taking two cups from the cupboard. 'I got talking to Christine, and—'
'I know how it is,' he interrupted her. 'Chatting with a friend, enjoying a few drinks, the time just flies by.'
'I had every intention of getting home by ten,' she said with some relief.
'I'm sure you did, but, the thing is—'
'I won't be late again,' she hurriedly insisted. 'There's no need to worry about that.'
'I hope not, Emily,' he said, nodding pensively. 'You see, I feel responsible for you. Your parents asked me to keep an eye on you, and so...'
'I know, Arthur. I'm sorry, okay? I've been a naughty girl and I won't do it again.' Her dressing gown parting as she bent a little, revealing the alluring cleavage of her young breasts, Emily took the milk from the fridge. She thought nothing of wearing her dressing gown in front of her neighbour. Despite giving a glimpse of her bra cups and the front of her tight panties, she felt perfectly comfortable with Arthur and thought nothing of it. He was a family friend, almost an uncle figure. He wouldn't even notice such things...
'To be honest,' he sighed, sipping his coffee as she replaced the milk and pulled her gown together, 'I wish your parents hadn't involved me.'
'So do I,' Emily said, forcing a laugh. 'I'm perfectly all right on my own. After all it's only for a couple of weeks, so what's the worst that can happen? Anyway, what's this report book you mentioned?'
'That was your father's idea. He wants to know what time you go out, what time you get home each evening, and—'
'So there really is a report book?' Emily gasped.
'Yes, there is. The problem I have is that I can't lie to him. I can't leave a blank space in the book because he'll ask me about it. And if for last night I write ten o'clock in the getting home column, I'd be lying, wouldn't I?'
'This is ridiculous,' Emily complained, her gown parting again as she shook her head in disbelief. 'A report book? The "getting home" column?'
'You, of all people, should know what your father is like,' Arthur pointed out.
'Yes, but all you have to say is that you didn't see me come home. Surely he doesn't expect you to be spying out of the window all night?'
'He trusts me, Emily. I've known your parents since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. They asked me to keep an eye on you and the house because they trust me.'
'Then I'll be in by ten this evening, I promise,' she stated adamantly, seeing appeasement as her best move.
'You're going out?' He focused on the smooth plateau of her stomach, the small indent of her navel. 'You're going out again?'
She nodded, oblivious to his scrutiny. 'I'm meeting Christine.'
'I'd rather you didn't, Emily.'
'What do you mean?'
'You'll stay in this evening. Do you understand me?'
'What?' she gasped, frowning at him. Had she misheard him? 'You mean, you're grounding me?'
'Yes, I am,' he confirmed matter-of-factly. 'I'll feel a lot better if I punish you.'
Her mouth fell open. 'Punish me? Arthur, this is crazy.'
'I'll cover for you, this one time. I'll fill in the report book - and this really goes against the grain - and I'll say you were home by ten last night.'
'Right, thanks,' Emily breathed, sensing she didn't really know her neighbour at all. What on earth was the matter with him?
'But your punishment will be that you'll stay home this evening. I don't like this any more than you do. I'm taking quite a risk for you, Emily.'
'A risk?' she repeated incredulously. 'How do you mean, a risk?'
'Well, what if one of the other neighbours saw you last night and told your parents that you got home at eleven-thirty..
. you can understand my predicament, can't you?'
Emily suddenly felt humbled, and lowered her eyes from his accusatory glare. 'Yes, yes I suppose I can,' she acknowledged.
'If your parents discovered that I'd covered for you, lied for you...'
'Look, I won't be late again, I promise.' She needed to placate him.
'All right, but as I say, you'll stay in this evening by way of punishment,' he insisted uncompromisingly.
The minute Arthur had finished his coffee and left the house Emily rang Christine, who couldn't believe it any more than Emily could. A report book? Grounded by her next-door neighbour? Suggesting that Emily sneak out of the house once dusk fell, Christine said she'd meet her in the wine bar and from there they'd go on to a club she knew. Music, drinking, dancing, boys; they'd have a great time - and Emily anxiously bit her lip as she agreed to the irresistible plan. This was a dangerous game, she knew. Her holiday in Tenerife was riding on her behaviour, and if she blew things she could forget it.
Chapter 2
Emily waited until nine o'clock before slipping out of the backdoor and making her escape. Arthur wouldn't have spotted her sneaking into the alleyway, she was certain. He'd probably been looking out of his office window at the front, watching the street. Having grounded her, it was unlikely he'd expect her to creep out of the house. And if he called round to check on her, he'd think she'd not answered the doorbell because she'd had an early night. Or was she overreacting?
She had a great evening with Christine, behaving like any normal eighteen-year-old girl. Meeting several of her university friends in the nightclub she giggled and joked, really coming out of herself. Briefly reflecting on her teenage years, she knew she'd missed out on a lot. While her friends had been partying and going out with boys she'd been studying at home and going to bed by ten. But things were different now - at least for a while.
When she returned home she crept in through the backdoor and breathed a sigh of relief. The lights were off in Arthur's house. It was almost two o'clock and he'd be tucked up in his bed, oblivious to her transgression. Making herself a cup of coffee, her head again dizzy with the effect of alcohol, she pondered her evening with Chrissie.
The nightclub had been amazing, the drinks flowed and she finally built up the courage to dance with a lad. She'd not told Christine, but she arranged to meet him in the wine bar the following evening. His name was Jack and he was great company. He made her laugh and bought her drinks, and treated her like the young woman she was. Her stomach somersaulting she recalled his lips touching hers, and incredible though it was, that was her first ever kiss.
'I'm in here,' Arthur's voice broke the night's silence, coming from the lounge, and Emily almost dropped her mug as she spun round and stared into the darkness of the hall. The lounge light came on and Arthur called out again. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Five past two. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be. How the hell had he got in? She'd locked the doors, for certain. Her hands trembling, her heart racing, she placed her mug on the kitchen table and ventured along the hall to the lounge.
'You defied me, Emily,' he said, looking up at her from the armchair.
'What - what are you doing here?' she stammered, her brown eyes reflecting fear as she stared at him.
'Waiting for you,' he replied. He gazed at her leather miniskirt and shook his head disapprovingly. 'It's past two o'clock, Emily. Not only are you four hours late, but you shouldn't have gone out in the first place. What have you to say for yourself?'
'This is silly,' she said, wondering what had happened to the friendly neighbour she once knew. 'This is... it's silly.'
'Silly? That's not the word I'd use. It's despicable. What are your parents going to say?' He locked his dark eyes to hers and scowled. 'The day they go away you come home drunk at eleven-thirty. The very next day, even though you were grounded you come rolling in at two o'clock, drunk again.'
'I'm not drunk.'
'Look at you. You can hardly stand. Have you been with a boy?'
'A boy?' she echoed, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl as she twisted her auburn locks nervously around her slender fingers.
'Yes, a boy.'
'No, I... I was with Christine.'
'I don't believe that for one minute. You've been with a boy, haven't you?'
'No, I—'
'Don't lie to me, Emily,' he broke in angrily and lowered his gaze to her shapely thighs, revealed by her miniskirt. 'You're dressed like a young tart,' he said harshly. 'Had some young lout's hands down your panties, have you?'
'Of course not!' she shrieked, unable to believe what he was suggesting. 'For goodness sake, I've only been out with Christine.'
'Is that why you're so late?' he pressed. 'Because you've been in the park allowing some yob to—'
'Arthur, please, I have not been out with a lad, let alone let one touch me where you're suggesting!' she retorted indignantly. 'And even if I had it would have nothing to do with you. I'm eighteen, I can do as I please—'
'You don't seem to understand the situation, Emily,' he interrupted. 'During your parents' absence I am responsible for you.'
'How did you get into my house?' she demanded, trying to think straight.
'You mean your parents' house,' he corrected pettily. 'I let myself in with a key. Your father gave it to me before they left.'
'So you think you can come walking in here as if you own the place and—'
'This is getting tedious, Emily. You have behaved despicably, and I now have to decide on your punishment.'
'Punishment?' She held her hand to her head as she tried to comprehend the ridiculous situation. 'I want you to go now,' she said. 'I'm tired and I want you to leave so I can go to bed.'
'You still don't understand, do you?' he said, shaking his head. 'Allow me to explain. You want to go on holiday with Christine later this year, and as your father said, this is a test period. Are you with me so far?'
'Yes,' Emily sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling.
'Whether or not you go to Tenerife depends on me. It depends on the report I give your parents. I've not yet filled in the time you got home last night or tonight, but eleven-thirty and gone two o'clock won't look good. And not only drunk on both occasions, but dressed like a young tart, too.'
'You can't speak to me like that,' Emily protested, failing to suppress her anger. 'Who do you think you are?'
'Oh, I omitted to mention that there's a remarks column in the report book so I can comment on specific examples of bad behaviour. Again, it was your father's idea. Now, why don't you make me a cup of coffee while I decide what to do with you?'
Leaving the lounge sulkily, Emily knew he held the key to her holiday. Did it really mean that much to her? Yes, it did. It wasn't just that she was going to Tenerife; after the excitement of the wine bar and the nightclub, she was looking forward to going away with Christine more than ever. Tenerife meant freedom, fun, music, dancing. She'd do anything to be allowed to go on holiday.
But what had happened to change Arthur like this? Why had he turned into a Victorian-like guardian? She was determined not to be dictated to by her suddenly draconian next-door neighbour. To keep a neighbourly eye on the house - and on her - was understandable and kind of him. But to question her and suggest what he'd suggested? No, he wasn't going to rule her life for the next two minutes, let alone two weeks.
'Thanks,' he said, smiling as Emily went back to the lounge and gave him his coffee. 'When I was a boy my father was pretty strict. He'd take the slipper to me if I misbehaved, and it didn't do me any harm. In fact, it taught me to respect him.'
'That's when you were a boy,' Emily said. 'Not when you were eighteen, surely?'
'By the time I'd reached eighteen I'd learned to behave myself, learned to respect my parents. Can't you see that yours merely want the best for you? They don't want to have to worry about you while they're in Spain. They don't want to be wondering what you're up to, where you've been, what time you're getting hom
e. What if something happened to you?'
'I realise they're concerned about me, but,' feeling suddenly dizzy Emily sat on the sofa. 'We used to talk, Arthur,' she sighed. 'Many times you'd listen to my problems—'
'You're living under your parents' roof and under their rule,' he interrupted brusquely, and brushing her auburn hair away from her pretty face she tried to clear her mind. She couldn't understand what had happened to Arthur, why he'd changed. They used to sit in his garden beneath the summer sun, talking about the plants, school, anything and everything.
Reclining on the sofa, her leather miniskirt riding up her smooth thighs, she was unaware that her white knickers were on show. Arthur stared at her from the armchair, his dark eyes locked to the triangular patch of material clinging to the fleshy cushions of her teenage love lips. The alluring V-shape of her panties perfectly visible beneath her miniskirt as she unconsciously allowed her thighs to fall apart, she was oblivious to her exhibitionism.
'As I said, you have behaved despicably,' Arthur stated sternly. 'And as to your punishment...'
'You're not going to suggest that you take the slipper to me, are you?' Emily asked him sarcastically, sitting upright.
'I believe that a spanking might make you change your ways, Emily, yes,' he announced, making her wish she'd not been so flippant.
'A spanking?' she gasped. 'Now hang on just one minute—'
'You still don't realise the gravity of the situation, do you?' he cut in. 'You don't seem to comprehend the severity of your predicament.'
'Gravity? Severity? All I did was—'
'All you did was go against everything your parents stand for. And, like it or not, that is a grave lack of respect.'
'You can't spank me,' she muttered, forcing a laugh as her firm buttocks involuntarily tensed. 'I'm eighteen years old and I won't allow you to.'
'Don't defy me, young lady,' he warned fiercely. 'Perhaps you should have been spanked when you were younger; you might not have found yourself in this situation had you received discipline from an early age. Now bend over the back of that chair,' he added, nodding at the other armchair.
