Ring the door bell

From Create Your Own Story

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As you ring the bell, the door opens up and it is low light inside. In the door way is a woman in her mid 30's with long black hair, soft blue eyes and smooth skin. You notice she's only wering her black bra and a black thong. She must be a DD cup, because she is busting out of the C-size bra she's wearing.
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As you ring the bell, the door swings open as if anticipating your arrival. In the doorway is a middle-aged woman with long, silky black hair, sharp green eyes and sharper black painted nails.
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"Mmm, you must be the new kid," she says with an almost seductive voice
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"You must be the new kid," her last word fades into what sounds like either apathy or disappointment. She studies you almost aggressively with her eyes, her penetrative glare makes you feel as though she can see through your clothes, your body and right into your soul. You have never felt a chill like this; not even in the last season of the year, when the snow fills your boots and your snot and tears turn to ice. You feel an instinctual urge to run, but you resist it and plant your feet firmly into the ground.
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"Yes, I am the child with the gift to see things befor they happen."
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Finally, after what feels like minutes of invasive observing, she breaks her gaze, and you almost sigh in relief, "come in," she looks up at the sky, "before it starts to rain." She backs up into the building and holds the door expectantly.
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"That's good.  We haven't ever had a cock in the house, so it's very nice to meet you," she says as she reaches down and grabs your cock and balls in her hand and shakes them.
 
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You shiver at first because you have never been touched there before.  You're surprised, but it feels so good.
 
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How do you reply?
 
*[["It's nice to meet you, too," as you grab both her breasts and shake them]]
*[["It's nice to meet you, too," as you grab both her breasts and shake them]]

Revision as of 19:02, 15 September 2016

As you ring the bell, the door swings open as if anticipating your arrival. In the doorway is a middle-aged woman with long, silky black hair, sharp green eyes and sharper black painted nails.

"You must be the new kid," her last word fades into what sounds like either apathy or disappointment. She studies you almost aggressively with her eyes, her penetrative glare makes you feel as though she can see through your clothes, your body and right into your soul. You have never felt a chill like this; not even in the last season of the year, when the snow fills your boots and your snot and tears turn to ice. You feel an instinctual urge to run, but you resist it and plant your feet firmly into the ground.

Finally, after what feels like minutes of invasive observing, she breaks her gaze, and you almost sigh in relief, "come in," she looks up at the sky, "before it starts to rain." She backs up into the building and holds the door expectantly.


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