ditzy-dolls:Something was going on next door. Lisa had never actually met her neighbor. He seemed

ditzy-dolls: Something was going on next door. Lisa had never actually met her neighbor. He seemed nice enough - he’d wave shyly if they were both putting their garbage out at the same time, and he kept his part of the sidewalk neatly shoveled in the winter. But other than that, Lisa never saw him leave the house. She assumed he worked from home. Some kind of agoraphobe, maybe? Getting all his stuff on amazon, all his meals delivered, barely ever setting foot outside? Maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Lisa certainly never saw him leave. Kind of sad, really. But then how did you explain the girls? Lisa only started paying attention about three weeks ago, and in that time, she’d seen no fewer than seven women go into the house next door. They walked down the street with these odd, distracted looks on their faces. They looked like their minds were elsewhere as they walked down the street, pausing only when the reached the house. They’d ring the bell, gaze never leaving the front door. It’d open, and they’d vanish inside. They always stayed for quite a long time - overnight more than once. They left with the same glassy, blank looks on their faces. Every one of them had been beautiful. Every one of them had been fashionable and dressed well. What on earth where they doing there? Lisa considered for a while that maybe they were prostitutes or escorts. Some service her neighbor was using, ordering dates on the internet. She ran with that theory for a while, until the other day, when she’d spotted one of them inside the house. She’d been washing the dishes, and just happened to look out the window, and - well, no, that wasn’t true. She’d been snooping. She saw the girl go in - a tall, pale redhead, willowy and ethereal, her long hair trailing delicately behind her in the breeze as she waited for the door to open. Lisa tried to see where she went as the girl headed inside, but the door closed before she could see anything. Then, while she was washing dishes, she spotted the redhead again. She could just see in the window of the neighbor’s house. Just enough to see the redheaded girl sitting on the couch. She was looking at something - the TV, maybe? And she was talking. Her face looked odd - slack and inexpressive - but her mouth was moving. It looked like she was talking in her sleep, except her eyes were open. She was moving, too. Lisa couldn’t see what she was doing, but her arm or hand was definitely moving. And that’s all she could make out. Eventually, the girl got up, went elsewhere, and Lisa didn’t see her again until she left. What the hell did that mean? Three days later another girl showed up. She was a bit shorter, a gorgeous black girl with flawless skin and unreal curves. She walked up to the house with the blank precision Lisa had come to expect.  As soon as the girl was inside, Lisa dashed to the kitchen, hoping to catch another glimpse, maybe see more than she saw last time. And she did. The curtains were open wider next door, so Lisa could see everything. She could see the girl sit down, pull her skirt up, and spread her legs. She could see her lean back on the couch, eyes wide and vacant, as she reached down and began playing with herself. But most of all, she could see the TV. It looked at first like it was simply showing a plain, bright white screen. The girl was staring at it, and her mouth started moving. Like she was talking. Reciting. Lisa looked closer, and the bright glare began to resolve into colors. Pinks and yellows, some green around the edges. They shifted and moved in a way that was kind of disorienting. Then, suddenly, the colors seemed to flex, bending back and inward, yanking Lisa forward. It was like she was falling into the screen, even all the way from her own home.  The faint colors weren’t so faint now. They were vibrant and sharp. Spinning, spiraling tendrils of electric blue and purple and pink and red, sharp enough for Lisa to cut herself on. She lost all sense of peripheral vision - the screen was all she saw. She felt herself shift in place, clenching her legs together. She realized, strangely, that she was wet. Lisa opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She didn’t know what she intended to say, but felt like she should be saying something. Should be… repeating something. It was the oddest sensation. She realized she was grinding her hips against the kitchen counter rhythmically. She didn’t stop when she realized. She thought about the girl on the couch, sitting there, playing with herself and reciting. She wondered what she was saying. That’s what she should be saying, she realized. One of her hands hand found its way down, unbuttoned her pants and started stroking. She pictured herself sitting there next to her, both of them with their legs spread, both of them droning the same mysterious phrases on and on. The idea made her drip even more. Lisa imagined herself walking dreamily over to the house next door, face vacant and unaware as all the other girls she’d seen. She imagined herself waiting at the door, unmoving, unthinking. She imagined sitting in front of the TV, being brainwashed. She imagined what must come after that. Her elbow bumped something off the counter as she played with herself. Whatever it was fell to the floor and shattered. Lisa ignored it.  She was going to do it, she realized. As soon as she could break away from the screen. Eventually it’d turn off, and the girl in the house would go do something else. Lisa would walk out of her house, pants unbuttoned, fingers sticky and wet, and walk to her neighbor’s door, and ring the bell. She’d stand and wait. She’d come in. She’d follow him to the TV. She’d sit. She’d recite. She’d touch. She’d surrender her mind. She didn’t have any choice in the matter. And she loved it. -- source link

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