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Stripped
     

Stripped

3.0 3
by Gabriel Daemon
 

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If you found a peephole in the floor of your apartment, looking down upon the attractive neighbor beneath you, what would you do? That's the question posed to Will Hargener, a man whose professional ambition becomes suddenly compromised by the alluring beauty of a woman whose life he can watch in every detail...without her knowledge. From the mundane to the painfully

Overview

If you found a peephole in the floor of your apartment, looking down upon the attractive neighbor beneath you, what would you do? That's the question posed to Will Hargener, a man whose professional ambition becomes suddenly compromised by the alluring beauty of a woman whose life he can watch in every detail...without her knowledge. From the mundane to the painfully sexy, Will witnesses every facet of his unwitting neighbor's life, learning more about her than he had ever known about any woman in his life. Then comes the day in which the object of his voyeuristic fantasies collides with stark reality

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781440464591
Publisher:
CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date:
11/19/2008
Pages:
122
Product dimensions:
5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.26(d)

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Read an Excerpt

I tried to occupy my mind with some business reports, then a little mundane TV. But the little hole in the floor beckoned, as if it possessed a mind of its own, and a telepathic one at that. I managed to resist for a while, until I heard the faint groaning of pipes through the floor that signified the use of the shower below.

I headed to the bathroom under the pretense of telling myself I needed to relieve my bladder. The sound of water rushing through the pipes was faint but noticeable. I used the toilet, flushed, then turned around. I frowned at what I saw.

The tile was loose. Had I kicked it subconsciously?

I got down, pulled the tile away, and before I knew it, I was looking down, spying on Miss Skinny Blonde.

I seemed to have chosen just the right time. My enigmatic neighbor wore a yellow blouse and tight jeans, and the blouse was coming off. Hmm, no bra, I noticed, not that she really needed one. Damn, her nipples were like little pieces of pink bubble gum.

She dropped the blouse on the floor, then unsnapped, unzipped her jeans. She wiggled her hips a little to get them off, then bent over as she stepped out of them. Whoa. No panties, either. A chick that goes commando. I was definitely hard by that point.

Casually, the blonde stroked her hands up and down her body, over her small breasts and stiff nipples, down between well-toned legs--my cock twitched as she rubbed her crotch for a moment--then over firm round cheeks. Then she settled her hands atop her hips, and arched her back, tilting her head back.

The concave lens through which I stared magnified anything directly beneath, and as it happened, the woman was right under me.Her eyes were closed, but I could see every detail, every feature of her face as if she were no more than a few feet from me. She had a sharp, narrow nose, a thin-lipped mouth, and just the slightest of crow's feet at her eyes and smoker's wrinkles around the corners of her mouth. I made the instant conclusion that she must have been older than I thought, maybe even around my age.

Yet with the body of a teenager. My cock twitched again.

She leaned toward the shower, testing the water, then stepped under the spray. I watched for several minutes as the woman soaped up, rinsed off, running her hands all over her body. She kept her eyes closed most of the time, and it seemed to me that the expression on her face was one of quiet, suppressed sensuality. She seemed to spend more time washing her breasts and between her thighs than I would have thought normal.

Then it really got interesting.

The blonde turned off the spray, and I thought my show over. But my heart pounded as she leaned out from the shower, her body wet and dripping (the glistening line of her muscular back was incredibly sexy), her shoulder-length hair dark from the water and slicked back. She grabbed a long-handled brush sitting on the edge of her counter.

Oh, man, is she ... is she really gonna ... oh, shit ... yeah, she is...?

Meet the Author

Gabriel Daemon has been self-published online since 2006. He lives in San Antonio, Texas, where he cheers on his World Champion Spurs and sips dark German beer at his favorite pub.

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Stripped 3 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 3 reviews.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
True dat.