Long Nail Story #18 – Wrong Address

long nail red
long nail red
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The following is a work of fiction intended for mature adults over the age of 18. If you are one of these people and are not offended by sexual content, then please enjoy and feel free to send feedback

long nail red
long nail red

“Harper!!” yelled Mr. Bandetto from the kitchen. “Simpson!…16 Cherry Tree Lane! Before it gets cold!”

Brandon Harper was home from his expensive university for the summer and his father insisted Brandon attempt to rein in his perpetually scattered head and get a summer job to help pay for at least his books and car maintenance for his approaching Junior year. Not wanting to cut into his beach time during the day, he opted for a meek evening pizza delivery gig a few towns west of him. Brandon was an amicable, good-looking young man, so tips were not bad and despite his boss being a major prick, Nunzio Bandetto paid well. He made sure he chose a pizza place miles from his own neighborhood so he would not be embarrassed delivering to someone he’d known his whole life and also made sure that it required him to have his own car, because he was NOT about to drive one of those little, bright red, wannabe-golf-cart things with a big billboard on the roof like it was some kind of 4-cylinder, suburban shark.

Brandon walked up to the counter to grab the pie and was immediately frozen by the gorgeous woman at the register. She was beautiful, had long blonde hair, tremendous boobs, and golden-tanned skin and was probably 15 years older than Brandon, but then he had always had a thing for older women. What actually grabbed his attention, were her sparkly red fingernails that held the ten dollar bill up to the cashier. Growing up on the Jersey shore, Brandon had always been surrounded by mature New Jersey women who were all, for lack of a better term, appearance-conscious. Whether it was his older sister’s friends or his mom’s friends, Brandon’s world was never at a loss for overly made-up, heavily perfumed, older women with big hair, sexy clothes and expensive manicures. Over the years of exposure to these types, Brandon had developed a secret attraction to older women, being particularly drawn to the ones who manicured their nails like hers were; long and slender with bright polish that seemed to glimmer as she moved her hand. They were practically hypnotic in his mind.

“Harper!” Mr. Bandetto barked, breaking Brandon’s daydream and sending his feet shuffling like a cartoon character that runs in place for a few seconds before actually moving. This comical display made Brandon’s counter temptress stifle a laugh and amidst his attention being torn between the irate Italian man behind him and the giggling manicure in front of him, Brandon did not notice the name/address slip fall to the floor off of the box. He barely composed himself and was out the door, pie in hand and walking to his car mentally reviewing the beautiful features on the blonde inside, especially dwelling on how sexy her nails looked.

He got in the car and while putting the pizza in the warming sleeve on his passenger seat, he realized the address slip was missing and tried to recall his destination. He knew he could not go back inside for fear his boss would lose it and fire him, which would make his father force him to get a serious job.

“Simpson, 16 Cherry Tree” he heard in his mind in his boss’ angry, Sicilian accent as he turned the ignition key. He felt fairly confident he was correct and stepped on the accelerator. Within about 10 minutes and after a series of winding turns, Brandon approached an intersection with a sign on its corner reading “Cherry Tree Court”. He turned down the street into a small cul-de-sac and began looking for numbers on the doors and mailboxes.

“There it is, 16 Cherry Tree Court….mind like a steel trap!” he mumbled to himself as if he was boasting to his boss or his father. He stopped the car in front of a mailbox displaying a “16” on it at the end of a darkened driveway, secluded from its neighbors by high shrubs and a few tall trees.

As he made his way up the long front walk with the steaming pizza box in his hands, he noticed he could barely see any of the other houses on the block, the closer he got to the house. This address, aside for being obscured by greenery, was way in the back of the cul-de-sac, quite an exaggerated distance from the driveways on either side and deeply set back from the curb. The sun was just about set and Brandon stumbled as he stepped up onto the poorly-lit, covered porch. He managed to prevent the pie from falling over and rang the doorbell. A few seconds after the pleasant chimes subsided, the door opened and smiling down at Brandon as she chewed on a piece of gum, was a figure that rivaled the beauty of the woman from the pizzeria.

She was very tall, or at least appeared that way, being a step higher than Brandon and in a pair of those thick-soled slip-on sandals that seemed so fashionable of late. She wore a short, form-fitting, gauzy, summer dress being held up partly by spaghetti straps and partly by the curves of her voluptuous body. Its jewel-toned hemline ended just above her knees, revealing her firm calves. Her jet black hair was long, wavy and thick, almost bushy, but it neatly framed the porcelain skin of her face which was even more noticeable thanks to her bright red lipstick and purplish eye shadow. Her chest was full and round, wrapping around her mature upper body like an inner tube. She looked to be in her late 30’s, probably early 40’s, but with a very well-maintained body and as if that were not enough to make Brandon’s heart, as well as another body part swell, she lifted her hand to her cheek in a sign of confusion, allowing her long glossy plum-colored nails to reflect the dim light from the small bulb on the porch, freezing Brandon where he stood. This woman was an amalgam of all the things that Brandon had practically been bred to find irresistible in women.

Brandon audibly gulped. “One large pie, Ms. Simpson.”, he managed to get out despite his distracting thoughts.

The woman studied Brandon for a few seconds, immediately recognizing his attraction to her nails and also realizing that he was obviously at the wrong house. What Brandon was unaware of was that this woman was the neighborhood vixen. She even had the lure of being known as a witch to the younger kids in the area. She masterfully cultivated this image by using her seductive womanly wiles to constantly bewitch the minds of the young boys in the area. She easily manipulated their horny young minds to help keep her grounds clean and landscaped, run errands for her and occasionally feed her lustful desires. She was careful to only do the last with the high school juniors and seniors, but she was growing tired of “boys” and was thrilled to see this virile, handsome, and most importantly, lost young man on her doorstep.

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