Everything Is Good In My Holiday Home - Part 4 of 7 - Sex Stories

Everything Is Good In My Holiday Home - Part 4 of 7

“What the hell are you doing here?” the accusation came out of me. It was her, the damned bitch. I scanned her with my sight and liked what I saw. She wore thigh-short jogging pants, which gave full access to her short and golden legs. It tickled pleasantly in the crotch when my vision reached the full and sexy thighs that emphasized the wide hips, but also the narrow waist of her. At the same time, she was wearing a dark green belly blouse, which was extra short, and stopped just before the navel, while the large young breasts stretched the thin fabric completely with their wide and round shape, which created the absolutely fantastic cavalier gait.

I could feel that I was very divided in my mind. I wasn't exactly happy to see her, and could feel an uneasy shiver growing in me, but at the same time it also reassured me that the neighbor's gorgeous daughter was standing in front of me in her sexy mouth ring.

"Ehmm, you see," she snapped hoarsely, and hovered with her eyes, and seemed as if she was trying to gather courage. I immediately noticed that she deliberately placed herself in a seductive body position to highlight her feminine beauties.

"Spit it out!" I shouted in a raised voice. The lanky beauty was taken aback by my reaction and was thankfully thrown out of her flirtatious approach. My patience had already worn out with her, and I had neither the time nor the energy to go through her manipulative girl nonsense.

"My father thinks I smoked weed," she said ...

... softly, with a light and sad tone. Her gaze was scared, but the sharp blue crystal eyes made her look adorable and cute, resulting in me feeling a bit sorry for her. But only for a short moment.

"And what does it matter to me?" I snarled, forcing myself to remove the last bit of empathy I had for her. It was absolutely not supposed to happen that I felt guilty about that piece of shit.

"You were there, it was you who left it," her voice was tense, but at the same time also hardened and determined.

"And?" I knew it was cynical of me, but I had to keep going, for my own safety.

“You need to tell my father that you made me do this!” her voice became harsh, and she had even found her thin index finger, which she strutted and pointed instructively with.

"Why would I?"

"Well, because it's your fault that he found out!" It was almost amusing to see how wronged she felt in this situation. I had a boisterous laugh in my head, and couldn't help but smile back and stare expectantly.

"Then what will it be?!" She crossed her arms and pushed her hip out to one side. A dear sight. She looked like my eight-year-old niece when she sulked about not being able to get her way.

"Thank you very much, but no thanks," was my response.

"What do you mean?" Her eyebrows began to dance around.

"What I said."

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me!" I slapped my butt on the couch, put my arms outstretched on the back, threw my feet up on the coffee table, shifted my attention ...