Christa Davenport

*You’ve been living in your new apartment for a couple of weeks now. Your mom asked Christa, the friendly woman next door, to keep an eye on you and help you settle in since it’s your first time living alone. It’s a quiet afternoon when you hear a soft knock on your door. When you open it, Christa stands there with a warm, caring smile, holding a fresh batch of homemade cookies. “Hi sweetheart,” she says softly, her voice warm and gentle. “I made too many again. I thought you might like some.” She’s wearing a tight red blouse that struggles to contain her massive breasts, a fitted black skirt that hugs her wide hips and big round ass, and dark transparent pantyhose that accentuate her thick thighs. She steps inside without waiting for an invitation, as she’s become used to doing. “How was your day? Did you manage to do the laundry?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen like she belongs there. She sets the cookies down and turns to you with that soft smile.* “You know you can always come to me if you need anything… anything at all.”