Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 (c) Copyright Henrik Larsen 2001





   Comments are very welcome.  You can reach me either through assd or by
e-mail at henlar@hotmail.com.



   This story contains elements of explicit sexual nature.

   If, for some reason, you feel offended by erotic stories, then I don't
know why you have opened this one.  Maybe to be offended, so you can
complain about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this.  If
that's the case, my advice is to seek professional help.  You need it.  If
you are not allowed to read stories like this, I will not be held
responsible, if you choose to continue.  But don't worry; it's all fantasy.

   A great thanks to Old Rotorhead and Cagey.  I'm very grateful for their
patient work, correcting and editing my stories, and their constant
encouragement.

   Reposting or any other use of this story is strictly prohibited without
the express, written permission of the author.









   The Neighbour's daughter.  Chapter 16.

   Mr.  Zimmermann's office was in an old, beautiful building.  The
entrance hall had tall oak foot panels and was furnished with old
upholstered leather furniture.  A secretary asked me to wait and called Mr.
Zimmermann on the intercom.

   "Send him right in," I heard Mr Zimmermann's voice say.

   The Secretary pointed to a heavy oak door.  Behind it was a large office
with dark furniture.  A grey-haired man was sitting behind a heavy desk.

   "Ah, Mr Green.  Do sit down.  I'm Mr Zimmermann."

   We shook hands and I sat down.

   "I guess you're wondering why I've asked you to come here?" he said.

   "Yes.  Is it about the funeral?"

   "That too.  Elvira, Mrs Larsen, wanted to be buried along side her late
husband and son.  They have a family burial plot.  She requested a simple
service and I'm afraid it will be very simple since the only people there
will be you, the vicar and myself," Mr Zimmermann said.

   "You seem to know Mrs Larsen very well?" I said.

   "Yes.  I've been her layer for over 40 years.  Her late husband was my
first client when I joined this firm.  When he died, Mrs Larsen continued
to use the firm and I've been her lawyer all these years."

   I wondered why Mrs Larsen would need a lawyer.  A businessmen or
criminals maybe, but why would an old, retired widow need a lawyer?  Mr
Zimmermann didn't look like the kind of lawyer that would serve dodgy
crooks.  It was hard to tell how old he was, but he looked very
distinguished and he was so calm and pleasant, smiling and very polite but
not overdoing it.

   "Mrs Larsen talked a lot about you.  It seems that you did an awful lot
for her."

   "No, I just did a little shopping.  She was a very kind lady," I
mumbled.

   "Well, according to Elvira, you did much more than that.  She has
actually left everything to you," Mr.  Zimmermann said.

   "What do you mean?" I asked.

   "You are the sole beneficiary in her will."

   "That was very kind," I said.  "I don't think she had much, but she
always insisted on paying when I cooked dinner.  She probably paid for two
thirds of my dinners during the five years I knew her."

   She couldn't have left me much.  As far as I knew, she'd been living of
her pension for many years.  She used little money the last couple of
years, but her savings couldn't amount to very much.

   "How much do you know about her late husband?" Mr Zimmermann asked.

   "Well, he was an accountant.  In a bank, as far as I recall.  She didn't
talk very much about him."

   "He was an accountant, at least when he started out, but by the time he
died, he had been promoted a couple of times.  Elvira came from a decent
but fairly poor family.  When he died, she wanted to go back home, so to
speak.  She didn't like the neighbours up north of town, where their house
was, so she sold it."

   "I know that much," I said, "Even though I never understood why.  I
always suspected that she couldn't afford to live in the house."

   "Her husband had provided well for her.  She could have stayed if she
wanted.  There were just too much snobbery and Elvira hated that."

   "Where did they live?" I asked.

   "She didn't tell you?  They had a mansion by the coast north of town. 
Elvira haven't told you anything about all this, has she?  All she told you
was that he was am accountant in the bank?"

   "Yes, wasn't he?"

   "When he died, he was managing director of the bank.  Elvira was a
fairly wealthy old lady.  I've always suspected that you knew this, but I
can see that I've done you wrong.  Elvira claimed that you knew nothing
about her money and that you were just a very kind young man.  It was hard
for me to believe, knowing that Elvira was well off, but I guess it comes
with the job."

   "She was rich?" I asked.

   "Depends on what you mean by rich.  I guess she has left you around
$700.000."

   It was one of those situations where he should have asked me to sit
down, before he told me.  Fortunately, I was sitting down.  I was stunned.

   "But, but . . .  why did she live in a small, rented flat, if she . . ."
I said.

   "Because she wanted to.  Mind you, her flat wasn't rented." Mr
Zimmermann smiled.  "She invested her money.  She owned the building.  Now
you own the building."

   "You're joking!  You mean to tell me that Mrs Larsen . . ." I gasped.

   "Yes.  You can keep it if you want.  It can bring a good revenue if you
raise the rent.  Elvira didn't want to make money on it and the rent hasn't
been adjusted for years.  You can sell it, of course.  It will be easy and
I think you'll be able to get in the region of half a million."

   I was speechless.  Mr Zimmermann smiled kindly, obviously amused with my
confusion.

   "You don't have to decided anything now.  It will take a month or so to
get the paperwork done.  Take your time.  If there's anything you want to
know, you can call me," he said.

   I left his office and took the bus home.  I think I did, but I can't
remember.  I was in a daze.  A house, a car; I didn't need to think about
saving up for all the things I wanted.  I could just buy a house, buy a
car. I could buy Sophie all the clothes she wanted.

   I called my parents when I got home.  I'd called them on Saturday and
told them that Mrs Larsen was dead.  My father had given me some advice
about the funeral.  They didn't believe me when I told them about the
inheritance from Mrs Larsen.  I mean, of course they believed me, but it
was as hard for them to grasp as it was for me.

   Sophie could hardly believe it either.

   "You are rich," she said, when she realised that it was true.  "Are you
going to quit your job?"

   "I don't think that I'm that rich.  I think I'll buy a house and a car.
I don't know.  I need a little time to get used to the thought." I said.

   "Are you planning to move far away?" Sophie asked, worried.

   "No.  I still want to be close to you."

   Sophie blushed and smiled.

   "You won't keep this house then?  God, I can't believe that Mrs Larsen
actually owned our house.  I can't believe that you own it!"

   "Neither can I.  You'll just have to get used to having a rich
boyfriend," I joked.

   "Oh, I think I can get used to that, as long as you are still Eric."

   "That won't change."

   "It's just so fantastic.  Are you happy now?  Let's make love.  We
haven't made love all weekend," Sophie said.

   We hadn't felt like making love.  Too much had happened, but now I was
up to it again and so was Sophie.

   "I don't know.  Maybe you're only after my money.  Are you sure it's
more than just the money?" I teased her.

   "No!  I'm only after the money and I'll do anything to get it.  Just
tell me what to do and I'll do it," Sophie giggled.

   "Anything?" I asked.

   "Anything!"

   "OK.  First, I want you to strip for me, you know, do it really sexy." I
said.

   "OK.  Put on some slow music," Sophie said and jumped up.

   I did and Sophie made a very sexy show for me.  She caressed herself
very sensually, first outside her clothes, but as she stripped, it became
hotter and hotter.  She played with her nipples and finally, when she took
off her panties, she lay down in front of me with her legs wide apart and
played with her pussy until the music stopped.  She got up and stood in
front of me.

   "What do you want me to do now?" she asked.  "You can spank me if you
want.  I'm such a wicked little girl who is only after your money.  Don't
you think I deserve to be spanked?"

   We hadn't played any games since the Saturday when I spanked Sophie,
even though Sophie had talked about it several times.  It had really
excited her.  I had been reluctant to do it and I was a little shocked that
it had turned me on.  Still, the more I'd thought about it, the more it
turned me on.

   "Do you really think your cute little bottom deserves a spanking?" I
asked.

   "I think it does.  I think it deserves ten slaps.  Are you going to make
me count them out or are you going to gag me, so I don't make too much
noise?"

   Sophie's parents were next door and the walls were far from soundproof.

   "I think we better gag you."

   I took a handkerchief and stuffed it into her mouth.

   "Put your hands on the table," I ordered her.

   She readily obeyed me and presented her lovely bottom.  I counted out
the slaps aloud, pausing between each slap.  I didn't hit her hard, but
enough to make her buttocks turn pink.  When I'd finished, Sophie
straightened her back and rubbed her buttocks.  I took the gag out of her
mouth.

   "I'm still after your money," she said.

   Her eyes were shining excited and her cheeks were hot and blushing.  The
way she looked at me emphasised her words.

   "If that didn't help, I think I'll have to use other measures," I
whispered to her.

   "It didn't.  What are you going to do?" Sophie asked.

   I was out of ideas and very excited.  All I wanted to do was make love
to her.

   "First, I want you to undress me," I said.

   Sophie willingly complied.  She ended up kneeling in front of me with my
cock right in her face.  Before I had the chance to do anything, she took
my hands and put them on the back of her head.  All I had to do was to pull
her head towards me and my cock entered her open mouth.

   Slowly, very slowly, my cock disappeared into her mouth.  Her mouth was
wide open and my cock hardly touched anything, before it settled in the
back of her throat.  I, or Sophie, kept it there for a second before I
pulled her head back again.  Sophie was completely passive.

   "Use your tongue," I said and Sophie did.

   Her tongue circled my cock and licked the underside.  I pulled her
closer again and she stuck out her tongue to reach more of my cock.  When I
hit the back of her throat, she gagged a little, maybe because her tongue
was extended.

   "Close your mouth," I said.

   She complied and began to suck my cock as I slowly pushed and pulled her
head back and forth.  My cock was pressed gradually harder against the back
of her throat.  I think it was Sophie that did it.  Still, even though it
was pressed fairly hard into her mouth, it didn't enter her throat. 
Finally, I pulled her off and my cock left her mouth with an audible pop
that made us both laugh.

   "OK, put your hands on the table again," I said.

   "Are you going to spank me?" Sophie asked.

   Seeing in that position tempted me to do just that.

   "Perhaps," I said.  "Spread your legs more."

   I knelt behind her and spread her lips with my fingers.  The heat was
radiating from her crotch.  Her lips were glistening and very swollen and
her clit was peeking out.  I could smell her excitement.

   Instead of spanking her, I blew a stream of air directly on her clit. 
Sophie, who had expected me to spank her again, gasped in surprise and
shuddered.  I did it again, but the effect was best the first time.  I
began to lick her from the clit to the delicate flesh between the two holes
and back again.  Sophie sighed and leaned lower, resting her head on her
arms.

   I stopped licking her, before she came.  She was on the pill now and I
didn't have to worry about condoms any more.  It was great to be able to
just stand behind her and slowly enter her.  I reached around and rubbed
her clit as I began to plunge harder into her.

   My stomach slapped against her buttocks as if I was spanking her. 
Sophie slid forward on the table and grabbed the rim with both hands,
resting her chest directly on the table.  Her tits were flattened against
the tabletop.

   Sophie was pushed closer to the table and my arm was trapped between her
thigh and the table, but I didn't really notice.  I just plunged
relentlessly into her.  I should have come much sooner than I did, but I
didn't feel that either.  The table was forced over the floor until it was
stopped by the sofa and began to creak dangerously.

   I felt Sophie coming, but I kept rubbing her clit and she wasn't able to
stop me.  I was more or less blinded by lust.  So much had been stored in
my mind and it had to come out some way: Mrs Larsen's death, the relief
that I didn't have to handle the funeral, and the surprise of the
inheritage.

   The table would have collapsed, if I'd held back one more minute. 
Instead, I collapsed over Sophie.  The world around me began to return and
I could feel the pain in my arm.  I eased off and pulled my arm out.  My
cock slipped out of Sophie.  There was only one advantage of the condom
over the pill: it contained my cum in one place.  Now, the mixture of our
fluids ran down Sophie's thighs, but we were too exhausted to care.

   After a little while, Sophie stood up and turned around to embrace and
kiss me.

   "Ummmm, I've never done that before," Sophie purred.

   "Done what?"

   "Come twice.  When you kept, you know, fingering my clit, it was too
much at first, but then it was like it built up again to a kind of an
orgasm.  I mean, it was an orgasm, it just felt different from the first
one," she explained.

   "Good?"

   "Yes," she said and looked down.  "Yuck.  I'm sticky all the way down my
thighs.  It's your fault."

   "I'm sure some of it is yours and besides, you have rubbed some of it
off on me."

   We had a long, playful argument about sticky thighs, until we went to
the bathroom and showered together.

   - - -

   The funeral was very simple.  As predicted by Mr Zimmermann, we were the
only people present, apart from the vicar, the church servant and the
funeral director.  It was the first time I carried a coffin, and it was
heavy in more than one sense.

   Mr Zimmermann wrote a nice obituary in one of the big papers. 
Apparently, her husband was very well known in his days and a lot of people
still remembered Mr Larsen.  Even my father remembered.  He hadn't been
able to recognise Mrs Larsen, but that wasn't so strange.  It was primarily
her late husband who was known back then.

   It didn't take me long to decide to sell the building.  I wanted a house
of my own, and even though Mrs Larsen had left me a bank account with close
to @100.000, it wasn't enough to buy a house, at least not the house I'd
set my mind on.

   It took almost two month, before Mrs Larsen's money was released to me.
Another month went before the building was sold.  I got $600.000!  I signed
the papers for my "new" house the same say.  I put "new" in quotes, because
the house was far from new.  It was almost 100 years old, and much bigger
than I needed, but I was thinking ahead.

   Sophie turned seventeen in February, and I gave her a gold heart on a
chain.  It was the first real birthday present I had given her, and even
though we agreed that it would be best if she didn't wear it at home, we
both hoped that she would be able to, soon.

   I moved into the house in March.  The only piece of new furniture I had
bought was a big brass bed.  The house looked pretty empty, but I was in no
hurry.  There would be plenty of time to fill the house and since I was
hoping that Sophie would move in with me one day, I wanted her to help me
choose the furniture.

   On Sophie's home front, there was a ceasefire and constantly ongoing
negotiations.  There had been a few incidents, but Sophie was still living
there.  Her mother had objected to some of the more daring clothes Sophie
had bought.  She didn't like the tight fitting clothes and tried very hard
to make Sophie wear something else.  She bought her blouses and jeans in
looser cuts.  It was up to date, fashion clothing, nothing like the old
dresses, but less provocative.  When Nina asked Sophie if she could borrow
one of the blouses, Sophie decided that she could wear some of the clothes
her mother bought.  It greatly improved the relationship between Sophie and
her mother, at least on that battlefield.

   Sophie's parents disliked Sophie's social activities.  First of all,
they didn't like that she saw Nina all the time.  Little did they know that
it was me she was seeing, and that Nina had found a new boyfriend and
hardly ever was with Sophie outside school.

   Parties were the other problem.  They tried all kinds of things to keep
Sophie from attending.  First, they tried to talk her out of it.  When that
didn't help, they tried to arrange other things for her: the movies,
theatre, concerts, even short weekend holiday trips.  That really annoyed
Sophie, because most of the things they offered her were things they
normally never would do with her.

   The situation was unstable and as I saw it, it was only a matter of
time, before it would all go up in flames again and Sophie would be back
living with me.









   To be continued.



   You can find more stories written by me at:
/~henlar/ ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/henlar