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Blow a Load in Becky

By Kimberlee Madison


Copyright 2018 © by Kimberlee Madison. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

WARNING: This book contains graphic adult content!


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My neighbor, Mark, calls to see if I can stop by and help his wife reset the pump for his pool filter. He says he’s out of town for the week on business and won’t be able to get to it until the weekend, by then the damn thing will be green. He says there’s a reset switch on the motor and all I need is a Phillip’s-head screwdriver. Flip the switch and, if I don’t mind, run the backwash for a few minutes, he says. I tell him I’ll stop by around noon.

Mark and Jen have lived in the neighborhood as long as me. We moved in within days of one another, three years ago. They bought the 3500 square-foot brick ranch with a pool. I bought the split-level next door.

They’ve been great neighbors. We spend a lot of time hanging out. Every time they host a pool party or have a cookout, they invite me over. They’ve got one daughter. Her name is Becky. Becky turned eighteen last week. She’s the hottest fucking little redhead I’ve ever seen.

Part of me is hesitant about going over to fix Mark’s swimming pool filter. I know Becky’s gonna be there, and my dick can’t take seeing her. Last week, her parents threw a birthday party for Becky and invited me over for pizza. It was a great party, with a bunch of Becky’s friends running around in bikinis. All those titties and asses bouncing around . . . fuck!

All evening the little slut kept hitting on me. At one point she even grabbed my ass as I was standing in a crowd of her friends. Before I split, she said she’d love for me to come back after everyone had gone, so I could give her a real birthday present. I really, really, really wanted to go back over. I even waited up watching out my window as the party wound down, but I felt bad about doing it . . . I’m fifteen years her senior . . . and besides, her parents are my friends.

Around noon, I grab my tool-bag and head over to Mark and Jen’s place. It’s gotten to the point that I can just let myself in. First thing I notice when I get there is Jen’s car is gone. For a moment I think about heading back home and trying again later. But then I figure the fix will only take a couple of minutes. I can be done and gone before anyone ever knows it.

The sun’s blasting in a cloudless sky as I push through the gate to their backyard, and when I see the blue water I think about taking a dip after I’m done working on the pump.

It’s an in-ground pool, and the pump system is located in a small shed tucked behind the pool-house. I make my way to the shed, unlatch it, and promptly remove the pump cover. I flip the reset switch, replace the cover, then backflush the entire system. It takes all of five minutes.

On my way out, I decide I’d better leave a note for Jen, so I slide across the patio and pop into the kitchen through the glass door. I find a pen and notepad on the counter and jot down my message: Jen, Pump is fixed! -Scottie. I leave the note on the middle of the counter where I’m sure she’ll see it.

Before I can get out of the kitchen, I hear what sounds like groaning . . . almost like someone’s in pain or something. I turn toward the interior of the house and find myself tiptoeing slowly down the hallway from where I think the sound is emanating. I pause when I get close to the Great Room. I hear it again . . . a woman’s voice going “Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . uh . . .”


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