The Girl Next Door
Capturing Cravings
Part 1 “Unexpected Visitor”
It was a new year—2017. My week had been nothing but lingerie models from four different countries, parading in and out of the studio. A different one each day, except for the group shoots. I was working a lingerie catalog for a Mexican brand, and the energy was wild.
I had a few favorites: one was a Playboy model I had shot in 2016 for Playboy Colombia, another was a famous swinger and social media influencer with nearly a million followers. We’d done live appearances together—autograph signings that turned into small-scale riots. Then there was a group of girls who called themselves Too Sexy.
During breaks, some of the girls lounged on the balcony in lingerie, smoking cigarettes and teasing the view from nearby buildings. The owner of the lingerie company was with us that day, and when pizza arrived, the models insisted on opening the door half-naked. The delivery guy didn’t know whether to drop the box or stay for the after-party. Two of my own cover girls worked that day too: a fiery redhead and a Colombian beauty with long, raven-black hair.
My day started at 6 a.m. with hair, makeup, and the first model. It didn’t end until 7 p.m. By the time I picked up thongs, lingerie, glasses, and greasy pizza boxes, it was past 8:30.
Finally, I sat out on the balcony, under vintage streetlamps that threw soft pools of light. January air bit fresh against my skin. Jeans, hoodie, glass of wine in hand, bottle on the table. I watched locals heading toward restaurants down the street, nothing special, when my phone rang.
It was the doorman, José Luis.
“Señor, there is a young lady who lives across the street asking to see the man on the third floor.”
I exhaled deeply. “OK, José Luis. Send her up.”
A knock followed minutes later. I opened the door.
She stood there—young, tall, long blonde hair, grey eyes. Jeans so tight they looked painted on, hoodie zipped, sneakers. She introduced herself.
“Hi, I’m Ladislao.”
“Kevin,” I said. “But everyone calls me Jaime. Come in.”
Her eyes roamed the studio, pausing on the gear, the lights, the canvases.
“You’re a photographer?”
“Yes, I am.”
She smirked. “Since before Christmas, I’ve noticed girls in lingerie smoking on the balcony. Hanging out.” She tilted her chin. “I live across the way, fifth floor.”
“Wine?” I offered.
“I don’t drink,” she said quickly, then reconsidered. “But I’ll have one with you.”
The bottle was on the balcony, so we stepped outside. I poured. She watched me carefully.
“I’ve seen you out here a lot. Smoking cigars. Just relaxing.”
“It’s my little escape after working,” I replied.
“And the girls in lingerie?” she pressed.
“I’m shooting for a lingerie company’s catalog. Castings too. That’s what you’ve been seeing.”
Her eyes flickered with curiosity. “I always wanted to be a model. But my parents…” She hesitated. “They don’t want me in public. My father’s a diplomat, at the [censored] Embassy.”
I leaned forward. “And where do they think you are right now?”
“They’re in Acapulco for an embassy getaway. Not back until Sunday night.”
Silence hung for a while, just the noise of the street below. I poured us another glass. She finally broke it.
“Can I see some of your work?”
We moved to the office. She sat at my desk, her eyes catching on a massive black-and-white nude bodyscape print mounted on the wall.
“You do a lot of these?” she asked.
“I do. Many like that. Some more explicit.”
“Show me.”
She leaned over my shoulder as I flipped through folders. Her perfume hit me first—light, sweet. Then her breath grazed my neck. My cock thickened, straining inside my jeans.
A trip to the bathroom gave her time to prepare. When she returned, her hoodie was partially unzipped, bare skin flashing underneath. No top. No bra. She stood behind me as I scrolled through explicit portfolios—pornstars, escorts, erotic models. Her hand brushed the desk, her body leaning closer, heat radiating off her skin.
“Do you think I could be one of your models?” she asked.
“No doubt,” I replied.
“Can we do something now?”
I was exhausted, but temptation overruled reason. “Sure. Pick something to wear—or just the jeans and hoodie.”
“Show me the options.”
Down the hallway, she explored the camming room, where costumes, lingerie, and props filled drawers and racks. She emerged in denim shorts and a black back-zip crop top, barefoot. I told her to pick heels, and soon she was strapping on silver Jimmy Choos.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Nineteen in July.”
The way she said it made my pulse spike.
On set, she started shy—frontal, profile, over-the-shoulder. Then she shifted, teasing, stripping the shorts inch by inch until her ass peeked out. Her skin was pale, glowing. The crop top slid away next. She covered her tits, then her pussy, but her eyes told me she was playing.
Thirty shots in, she darted back to the wardrobe. Naked at the end of the hallway, she held up a black lace bodysuit.
“Can I wear this?”
“Anything you want.”
She returned, strutting in lace so sheer it hid nothing—tiny tits pressing through, shaved pussy visible beneath a thin strap. Leopard-print pumps now clicked on the marble as she walked. My cock throbbed against my zipper, my control hanging by a thread.
We shot another thirty frames. Her confidence grew, her body moving freer, sultry. Afterward, she sipped the last of her wine, got dressed in those painted-on jeans, and headed toward the door.
But she didn’t leave. She stopped. Turned back. Whispered thank you. Then kissed me.
Not on the cheek. Not polite. Mouth open, tongue sliding, arms pulling me in. She pressed me backward, closing the door with her foot.
Her body pinned mine against the desk, denim grinding denim, her heat burning through the fabric.
I whispered in her ear, “Are you sure about this?”
“Claro que quiero,” she gasped, hips grinding. “Hasta me tienes loca…” Spanish for (Of course I want to, you’ve got me going crazy!)
Her legs spread wider, grinding deliberate, slow. My hands slid up her back, pushing her hood aside, brushing fingertips across the bare skin of her neck. She moaned, breathless, pressing harder against my cock.
I grabbed a handful of her ass, squeezing, pulling her against me. My mouth trailed kisses up her neck, teeth catching her earlobe. Her whisper was frantic now—Spanish spilling hot in my ear.
“Me estás volviendo loquita de ganas… Spanish for (you’re are driving me crazy) ”me tienes toda mojadita.” which just means (you have me so wet)
I groaned back, “Me tienes bien duro.”
Her reply—ragged, needy: “Puedo sentirlo… y me encanta.”
She unzipped her hoodie fully, dropping it to the floor, her tits bare and her eyes locked on mine.
“Your eyes,” she whispered. “So beautiful.”
Her hands cupped my face. My lips found her nipples. My hand pressed between her thighs. Wet denim. Grinding harder. She moaned against my ear.
“Vamos a la cama,” she gasped. “Que no aguanto más.”
She led me by the hand down the hall. Sneakers kicked off. Jeans painted on, body trembling with heat. She faced the bed, and I pressed behind her, lips against her neck, hands sliding over her tight body.
“You’re making me wetter and weak in the knees,” she whispered.
“Good,” I growled. “I want your whole body tingling.”
And she was. Every inch of her.
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Don’t Miss more:
The Girl Next Door – Part 2: When Curiosity Burns
In Case you missed it: PART 1 “The Girl Next Door”
Masterful.
🔥Hot! Excellent work!