I like spending my Sundays touring open houses. Mostly because that is when my probation officer gives me a few roaming hours and, well, I like finger food. I would also add that jewelry, so casually left out to impress, is easily pilfered but we all know that would be illegal so say much more on that, we won't.
But I had no idea an entire realm of perverts also enjoyed touring open houses. Hence, the uptick in my condom purchases, the new corduroy suit and a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo's. What can I say, I put the semen in Semonin.
Success is really failure redoubled. Every success starts with failure blah, blah, blah or so the first house realtor was babbling on about. He didn't have to tell me about failure as his Payless knockoff Oxfords screamed it. Still, the wine was valuable even if the bottle was cracked.
The first 30 or so women stormed out of my sight. Several swung purses and one had a husband who chased me over a backyard fence and through a neighbors garage. But that's another missed connection post all together. (Yes, lady sucking her own nipple thru the open draped bay window, I saw you and more importantly, you saw me.)
But persistence pays off.
Mid 30's. Athletic. Married older money. Said she always wanted to "consecrate" a home. Not necessarily her own either she added playfully. The idea alone had her wiggling...breathing heavy....Moist. And... down came the panties.
I started off with some countertop missionary. It just seemed more intimate. We escalated to dining room table and then rounded things out nicely with a leg up doggy across the back of the couch. I was several thrusts in with a slight hair pull when the realtor came in with another family. And yes by family I do mean a less wealthier version of Duck Dynasty.
I asked them what they were staring at without losing stride or thrust. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the full size mirror that memorialized the event for me. I love mirrors.
Oh but it was the realtor that caused my shrinkage. Sure, you could make the case, I guess, that several bearded women charging me, followed by slower but equally hairy men caused the lack of blood flow. But as I ponder these things deep in the recesses of my ball sac, I suspect a deeper longing.
She looked great for 40+. She didn't need, at least yet, to overdo the make-up. She was confidence and intelligence bottled up tight. Too tight maybe. I'm also a sucker for upper thigh skirts and knee high boots. And clipboards. I noted the look this elegant creature gave me. I saw the desire. The curiosity. The slight nibble of the pinky as she watched me exit hastily with nothing on but my Salvatore Ferragamos.
So dear Realtor, next weekend? Say between 1-3. This is a serious offer and I have a substantial deposit I'd like to introduce into several of your properties.
Your secret agent,
N.
But I had no idea an entire realm of perverts also enjoyed touring open houses. Hence, the uptick in my condom purchases, the new corduroy suit and a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo's. What can I say, I put the semen in Semonin.
Success is really failure redoubled. Every success starts with failure blah, blah, blah or so the first house realtor was babbling on about. He didn't have to tell me about failure as his Payless knockoff Oxfords screamed it. Still, the wine was valuable even if the bottle was cracked.
The first 30 or so women stormed out of my sight. Several swung purses and one had a husband who chased me over a backyard fence and through a neighbors garage. But that's another missed connection post all together. (Yes, lady sucking her own nipple thru the open draped bay window, I saw you and more importantly, you saw me.)
But persistence pays off.
Mid 30's. Athletic. Married older money. Said she always wanted to "consecrate" a home. Not necessarily her own either she added playfully. The idea alone had her wiggling...breathing heavy....Moist. And... down came the panties.
I started off with some countertop missionary. It just seemed more intimate. We escalated to dining room table and then rounded things out nicely with a leg up doggy across the back of the couch. I was several thrusts in with a slight hair pull when the realtor came in with another family. And yes by family I do mean a less wealthier version of Duck Dynasty.
I asked them what they were staring at without losing stride or thrust. I would be remiss if I didn't mention the full size mirror that memorialized the event for me. I love mirrors.
Oh but it was the realtor that caused my shrinkage. Sure, you could make the case, I guess, that several bearded women charging me, followed by slower but equally hairy men caused the lack of blood flow. But as I ponder these things deep in the recesses of my ball sac, I suspect a deeper longing.
She looked great for 40+. She didn't need, at least yet, to overdo the make-up. She was confidence and intelligence bottled up tight. Too tight maybe. I'm also a sucker for upper thigh skirts and knee high boots. And clipboards. I noted the look this elegant creature gave me. I saw the desire. The curiosity. The slight nibble of the pinky as she watched me exit hastily with nothing on but my Salvatore Ferragamos.
So dear Realtor, next weekend? Say between 1-3. This is a serious offer and I have a substantial deposit I'd like to introduce into several of your properties.
Your secret agent,
N.
No comments:
Post a Comment