My BBW Neighbor

"Please, I'm begging you… Give it to me… I feel so itchy down there… It's so itchy that I'm dying… Sir, please…" In the dimly-lit stairwell, I can only stare at the flushed cheeks of the beautiful woman who lives next door. That's when I feel my heart beating loudly. I approach her, hoping to lend her a helping hand. But I'm feeling a little hesitant at the same time. The next thing I know, she spreads her legs right in front of me all of a sudden. As I stare at her wet entrance, I can no longer hold myself back…

The bedroom was dark, and I was holding my wife's hand, feeling like I wanted to do something a little daring. But as I moved her hand, she suddenly stopped me, her hand trembling slightly. When the movie ended and the lights came on, I was shocked to realize that the person beside me wasn't my wife, but our neighbor, Lesley Mendoza...

Trent moved across the country to get away from the crazy women in his life, but when he finds what looks like a journal detailing how his neighbor is spying on him, he may not be as free of crazy women as he thought. As Trent reads and finds himself spying back, he wonders if she is really crazy, or is there something more between them?

My abrasive next-door neighbor confronts me on the street, accusing me of spying on her with my telescope. I wish I'd known I could have been watching her in her bedroom; I despise squandered opportunities. But I'm not going to let this opportunity pass me by. Her curves scream for me to touch them. I'll show her my telescope, no problem. She turns out to be working for my ex and will do everything she can to keep me from getting what is rightfully mine. She can try everything she wants, but I always take what I want. And I want her right now.

Oh ... Yes ... Like that ... You are the best ... They were at it again. Ever since that young man had moved in next door, these sounds had frequently invaded my room. It wasn't just that they were so loud, it was that once they began, they were sure to keep me up for half the night. I hammered on the wall, hoping they would quieten down. If anything, the noises only got louder. I could feel myself getting angry. I was on the warpath. I stormed outside and hammered on his door. But I was not prepared for what I saw once it opened. I shouldn't be privy to this, I thought. After witnessing this, how can I be allowed to live?

Widower and ex-boss to the Mafia, Zefiro Della Rocca, has an unhealthy fixation on the woman nextdoor. It began as a coincidence, growing into mere curiosity, and soon, it became an itch he couldn't ignore, like a quick fix of crack for an addict. He didn't know her name, but he knew every inch of her skin, how it flushed when she climaxed, her favourite novel and that every night she contemplated suicide. He didn't want to care, despising his rapt fascination of the woman. She was in love with her abusive husband. She was married, bound by a contract to the Bratva's hitman. She was off-limits. But when Zefiro wanted something, it was with an intensity that bordered madness. He obsessed, possessed, owned. There'd be bloodshed if he touched her, but the sight of blood always did fascinate him. **** Her husband was a monster, but he'd saved her from her past and a life of torture. She loved him like every captive grew to love their captor. Everything went to hell, however, when she fought back and ran from home, stumbling into the arms of her devilishly handsome neighbour with a brooding glare. He couldn't stand her, but she needed him, if she was ever going to escape her husband who now hellbent on killing her. Better the devil you know than the angel you don't. She really should have remembered that before hopping into Zefiro's car and letting him whisk her all the way to Italy. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have started an affair with him. He was the only man who touched her right, and the crazy man took no small pains in ensuring he would be the last.