Hi! I’m the Girl Next Door.

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Daniel closes his refrigerator and gasps. Standing in front of him, in an outfit too skimpy for spring…too sexy for walking around in public…is the Johannes daughter—of the family that moved in next door a week ago.

For seven days he only caught enticing glimpses of nubile beauty. Now, here she is. All of her. Standing four feet away from him. Blonde, blue-eyed, pretty, and petite, with the occasional tattoo and piercing to indicate a hard craving for adventure. For men.

She gazes into his eyes, her smile sparkling like diamonds in a pool of love. Oh. My. God. His heart pounds like the mighty Secretariat’s.

“Hey,” she says, all girly and feminine. “I saw your wife drive off so I figured this was a good time to say hi. I’m the girl next door.”

She reaches out to shake hands. “My name’s Dove—as in love.”

Holding her small, soft, warm hand in his makes him want to die.

“Nice to meet you,” he manages. “I’m…”

“I know who you are. I looked you up.”

Daniel nods as Dove gives him the once-over. Just over 40 years old and just under six-feet, Daniel is blessed with a boy band face. Health-obsessed Malatya Escort as an adult, he has worked out daily in the local Y pool and his home fitness room, inadvertently sculpting a lean, hard body. Dove bites her lip.

“Do you like my outfit?” she inquires. “If I took all my clothes off right now and balled them up in my hands, they would be the size of a tennis ball…. My pussy’s so wet, I could slide the ball right up into…. Wait, did I just say that, or did you imagine it?”

Daniel, feeling bewildered for a second, shakes his head…. Wait, did she just say that?

“How come…,” he musters. “How come I haven’t seen you?”

“Oh, I’ve been studying for finals all week. I just took the last one this morning and now I’m off for the summer. I graduate on Saturday.”


“Don’t judge me on how I dress. I’m an A student and I’m driven. I read a lot.”

“Me too.”

“I know… I’ve ordered two of the books you wrote and I’m going to read them this summer.”

Daniel looks surprised. “Thank you.”

“Does your wife read your books?”


“Your Malatya Escort Bayan heart is beating like a racehorse.”

“What? How do you know.”

“You’re breathing heavy and your brow is sweating.”

“I’m…I’m not normally like this.”

She grins, and they stare into each other’s eyes, her expression turning serious. She looks down at her legs and Daniel follows her gaze. He clearly sees a trickle of juice flowing down to her knee. She grins again.

“Would you pay $300,” she asks, “to lick that off my thigh?”

Without having to think, Daniel nods.

She grins and laughs mischievously.

“You know,” she says, “my bedroom window is directly across from yours—and like ten feet away.”

“I figured that was your bedroom, but your shade is always down.”

“It doesn’t have to be. If I pull it down, it goes up.”

Daniel nods.

“What time do you go to bed each night?” she asks.


“When does your wife go to bed?”

“Not till 2.”


Dove ruminates over the possibilities: It’s midnight, she imagines, and she and Daniel leer Escort Malatya at each other through their windows, desk lamps casting soft-glowing spotlights on their near-naked bodies. Dove trembles in pleasure as her new “daddy” remote-controls her pink-stick vibrator with his left hand while jerking his rock-hard cock with his right. “Oh, Daddy…” she coos, rubbing her clit, the sex making her woozy like champagne would if she were old enough to drink, which she isn’t. “I love you. I love what you do to your little girl….” Daniel jolts the vibrator up to high and they soon explode in orgasm at the same time, Daniel ejaculating high up on his window. As his jizz trickles down, Dove flattens her tongue on her window and licks upward, her eyes locked on Daddy’s eyes every inch of the way.

Back to reality: A noise rumbles.

“What’s that?” Dove asks.

“The garage door opener,” Daniel says.

“Fuck!” She races toward the back door. “#Bunnyhopper911!” she implores. “Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Tell me!” she pleads.


She opens the back door and pauses before leaving. “Will you message me?” she asks, almost desperately.

“Yes, definitely.”


She reaches out her pinky, and he links his with hers.

“Promise,” he says.

And with that, she races back to her house and into her bedroom, which is ten feet from his.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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