On to #105*

I think I’ll go on to #105. I can hit #103 when I start my rounds tomorrow. According to the list, #105 is the Sheridans: Karl is 44, his wife Julie is 42, and their daughter Dayna is 18. I knock on the door. A stunning young blonde answers—this must be Dayna. “Hi, who are you?” she asks perkily. She looks me up and down. “You’re really hot, whoever you are.”

I never used to get this many compliments, but I’m not complaining . . . I hand the girl my card. “I’m Iain Roberts—I’m the new building manager,” I say. “I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me. You’re Dayna, right?” I ask, holding out my hand.

“Yes,” she says. Dayna puts my card in her jeans pocket and takes my hand.

“Dayna, one of the things I’m doing is taking pictures of the tenants to help me keep everyone straight. Do you mind if I take yours?” I ask.

Her face lights up. “Sure!”

I’m about to explain the camera when a voice comes from inside the apartment asking, “Dayna, who is it?”

Dayna makes a sour face. “My mother,” she whispers. She turns her head and shouts, “It’s the new building manager.”

“Oh, really?” the voice asks in surprise. “I didn’t know Helen had hired someone already.”

“I just started today, ma’am,” I call over Dayna’s shoulder.

“Oh, a young man,” the voice says, closer. In a moment, another stunning busty blonde is standing before me. She has an ageless face; I can believe she’s 42, but if you’d told me she was 22, I’d have believed that, too. She pushes past her daughter, who scowls. She holds out her hand and says, “I’m Juliet Sheridan, but everyone calls me Julie. After all, I married Karl, not Romeo.” Behind her, Dayna rolls her eyes. I’d bet that line gets a lot _of work around her_e, I muse.

I take Julie’s hand and place my card in the other one. “I’m Iain Roberts, Julie.” I’m guessing from her commentary that she doesn’t want to be called “ma’am”; the pleased look on her face tells me I guessed right. “As your daughter told you, I’m the new building manager. I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me.”

“Dayna, go to your room,” Julie says sharply. “This is adult business, and you have homework to finish.” Dayna scowls, mouths “I’ll text you” at me, turns on her heel, and stalks off.

“Now, Mr. Roberts, what can I do for you?” Julie asks pleasantly, not bothering to hide the fact that she’s checking me out.

“First off, fair’s fair—if I get to call you Julie, you should call me Iain,” I tell her. “I know it’s a cliché, but when people say ‘Mr. Roberts,’ I really do look around for my dad.”

Julie nods and says, “Iain, then.”

“The other thing is that I’m taking pictures of the tenants to help me keep everyone straight. Do you mind if I take yours?” I ask.

Julie beams. “Come on in,” she says.

As we walk, I tell her about the camera rig and show her the app. “So you just look at me and tap your phone?” she asks.

“That’s it,” I agree.

“Is it really a big enough button? After all, you can’t ever look at it,” Julie observes.

I snicker, remembering the first photoshoot with Jenna. “I’m beta-testing it,” I tell her. “One of my comments will be that they need a better trigger mechanism. Something using eye movements would be ideal, but I would think putting some sort of trigger into the rig itself would work well, and it would be simple.”

“Anyway,” Jenna says, “it works well enough, right?” I nod. She strikes a pose. “Take me.”

Either that’s the clumsiest attempt at a double entendre I’ve heard in a while or she has some odd expressions, I think. I touch the screen.

Julie comes over to see. She exclaims in pleasure, “I look good!”

“That you do,” I agree. “You’re a gorgeous woman.”

Her face lights up, then falls into a scowl. “You should tell my husband,” she mutters. “He hasn’t touched me in months.” She shakes herself. “I know what will cheer me up,” she says. “Would you take some more pictures of me?”

“I’d be happy to,” I say sincerely. Maybe I’ll get to see some skin.

Julie turns to face me and opens her jean shorts. “I don’t really need these,” she declares—I’m wearing a one-piece.” She pauses, making it clear she wants a picture.

She turns to show me her ass as she pushes the shorts down.

Julie kicks her shorts out of the way and puts a hand on her ass. “Here’s a pose for you,” she says.

“It’s OK, you can stare at my ass,” she coos. “I wouldn’t be standing like this if I didn’t want you to look. I saw you trying not to stare at my titties earlier, too. Do you like them better, or do you like my ass better?”

Even after the day I’ve had, this is a bit much to keep up with. I manage to sputter, “I can’t really answer that.”

“Of course, you’re right, how unfair of me,” Julie purrs, turning to face me. “You need a good look at both to be able to compare them properly.” She does that thing women do with bras to pull her arms out of her one-piece and flips down the front.

Even after the day I’ve had, those tits are still spectacular. “I don’t need to ask if you like them,” Julie purrs. “The expression on your face tells me everything I need to know. My husband doesn’t seem to anymore; he never even looks at them, let alone touches them. He probably wouldn’t even notice if I did this.” She makes the fabric disappear and gets down on hands and knees. She arranges her hair like a waterfall and puts one hand on her leg to give me an unobstructed view of her big hanging melons. I squat down and take a picture.

“Now put your phone away, Iain,” Julie says, standing up. “I want more than just pictures. I’m incredibly horny, my husband won’t be home for a while, you’re hot, and I can see from the bulge in your pants that you like what you see and you’re ready for action.” She hefts her boobs in her hands. “Would you like to play with them?”