Other than a few doves cooing, it is a warm and quiet Saturday afternoon. I am in the living room of my newly rented ranch style house, working on my macbook. My wife is in the bedroom, at the other end of the house, doing the same.
I hear then see a bright blue Honda CRV pull into the driveway. A tall woman with long black hair steps out of the driver’s side and walks briskly to the front door. Instantly, my adrenaline starts to pump as I shoot up out of my seat. I am confused about who this could be, and shout across the house, “are you expecting anyone?” My wife, Cathy, must have her Bose headphones in because I don’t hear a reply. You see me through the window, smile and wave excitedly.
I walk to the door and open it slightly. You are standing there with a clipboard and a smile. Wearing a loose knit black sweater, black tights and black leather boots up to your knees with the zippers slightly undone. This somehow accentuates your knees and thighs in a way I have not appreciated.
You introduce yourself and say something like welcome to the neighborhood. Awkwardly you ask for and then write down my name and phone number on your purple clipboard and then offer yours on a different sheet of A4 paper, including your street address. I notice my address is 1496 and yours is 1469.
During the conversation, you keep very strong eye contact. Almost like you’re burning my face into your memory. I break your gaze a few times to get a better look at your dramatic tall boots and subtle outline of a camel toe.
My front door is covered in a way that neighbors or cars driving by can’t see into it. I think you notice this, as I step outside and close the door behind me. We are less than two feet apart from each other now. You say something like, “Thank you for answering your door.” And I thank you for introducing yourself. I offer my hand to shake and you take it, holding firm and you whisper, leaning to one side of my clean shaven face, “having met you, I’m now very wet.” Your left hand pulling open the front of your Lululemon tights, revealing that you are not wearing underwear, and that you have no hair down there. My eyebrows raise as I sort of rock forward to get a better look. That’s when you kiss me.
Without a second thought, while my right hand is still locked with yours in a grip, my left hand slips down the front of your pants, to a very wet and silky smooth pussy.
Our handshake breaks, with you spinning around, pushing your ass against my crotch, as I run fingers up and down your lips, glancing your clit at the top of each stroke.
Your round yet firm butt, now grinding against a hardening erection in my sweatpants. I smell your neck. Smells like tiny sweet flowers and orange. With both of your hands, you pull down your tights to mid thigh and bend at the hips, gripping your knees above your boots, revealing a smooth round ass.
It doesn’t take more than a deep frenetic breath from me to have my now very hard and leaking cock out, sliding down your crack to a pair of very wet and soft lips.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/f7fx06/down_the_street
Mmmmmm