Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Then, I stroll to the window of my room and sigh while sitting on the sill. Well, at least the sunset is really gorgeous. Actually, the sun’s already dipped below the mountains and all that’s left is a velvety purple sky dotted with diamond pinpricks. I run for my phone and then return to the window to take some photos. Hell, maybe I’ll even post them. Take that, you outfit-wearing, breakfast-eating feed. I’ll have the best picture in our friend group by a mile.
Quickly, I snap a few shots and then click ‘share.’ Great. Now that I’ve posted the sunset, what do I do? I’m still bored.
Wait a minute. I swipe through my sunset photos again. There he is! In one of the snaps that I took, I see a faint outline in one of the windows next door, and a chill runs down my spine. It must be that asshat, Corey Sterling, watching me.
But then I come up with a brilliant idea and I literally laugh out loud because it’s so clever. First, I need music. If I’m going to do a striptease, and I am, then I need the right tunes to get in the right rhythm. I’m going to put on a show for that bastard and it’s going to sting because it’s going to be all look, but no touch. Hahaha, he’ll have such aching blueballs afterwards. What a dickwad.
Quickly, I pull up Google and ask what the best music to use for a striptease. The answer is 'Lets Get it On,' by Marvin Gaye. Hmm, never heard of it, but the singer’s voice is really low and sexy, and within seconds, I’m swaying to the tune.
Next, I look at what I’m wearing. Jeans and a sweatshirt. That doesn’t work because imagine how awkward it would be to hop up and down like a pogo stick while trying to get these jeans over my hips. Instead, I move out of view and quickly strip down before throwing on a black lace bra and matching thong. Then, in the closet I find a flimsy white tank top. My black bra shows through the transparent fabric nicely, and then I slip into a super-short skirt to complete the outfit.
I look in the mirror. Perfect. I don’t need shoes since my windows don’t go to the floor, but the windows do go to my calves, so I have plenty of space to work with. I rip out my scrunchy and lean over to shake out my brown curls. It’s showtime.
Stepping out, I pull the cord to my blinds so that they’re open all the way and then take my speaker and face it out the window. Corey will definitely be seduced, and that’s exactly my plan. Sure enough, a male silhouette appears at the windowpane next door, and I begin to dance.
I swing my hips slowly, while running my fingers through my hair in a seductive caress. Then, I pull my shirt up to where it meets my bra and pull it down again before shaking my hips rhythmically. The words of the song slide over my skin and my eyes flutter shut as I sway. Hmm, this is more fun than I anticipated.
In a way, I feel sorry for Corey and for guys my age in general because most girls don’t want them. Even the football stars can’t compare to older men who are fully developed and virile. There’s just something boyish about Corey and his buddies, and they’re not going to get a real woman until they land a job and grow up.
But I digress. As the music pumps, I start to lift my tank top and slowly, pull it over my head before shaking out my curls again. Then I turn around and bend down so that my bottom’s high up in the air before giving it a little waggle in my neighbor’s direction. Sure enough, the skirt flies up, revealing my black g-string, and I take that opportunity to put my hands on my cheeks and pull them apart, revealing the wet flesh of my pussy bisected by the tiny thong.
Corey stares at me, his hands on the windowsill, his nose pressed against the glass. He’s like a kid at a candy store, and unfortunately, that’s as far as it’s going to go. There’s definitely no touching here.
But I can tease, can’t I? Slowly, I turn seductively once more, fingering my bra clasp before undoing it, and then slide the lace down my arms and off my torso. The cups draw away as I look over my shoulder with a coy glance. He wants to see my tits, and I have to say I have good tits too. My breasts are full and creamy, with rose-tipped nipples. They’re my girls, and they’ve always done me proud.