DOPPELGANGER NEXT DOOR, part 3 (Patreon)

Despite the coolness of the autumn night, the sheets were soaked with sweat, testimony to the oppressive heat that the female body moving on them exuded. Katja couldn’t fall asleep, even though she had been desperately closing her eyes for hours to escape the confusing reality with a long sleep. She had a vague notion that it must be around two or three in the morning, the clock on her bedside table chiming near her like a metronome that kept constantly reminding her that time was slipping away.

Katja’s thoughts were in turmoil, like a tempestuous sea crashing against the shores of her consciousness. A few hours earlier, her world had been rocked by a brief but intense confrontation with her newly met neighbor Tanja, and that encounter remained an unshakable presence in her mind. Her heartbeat quickened as the memory resurfaced, her hot body reacting as if she were still locked in that passionate struggle. With each heartbeat, the image of their encounter replayed in her mind—their heated exchanges, the fierce words they had hurled at each other, the way their young bodies had collided and intertwined in a passionate clash of wills.

“Fucking copycat bitch…” Katja whispered, her fingers clenching around a crumpled sheet as Tanja’s presence on the other side of the wall felt almost omnipotent, as the building itself seemed to echo her turbulent connection with the other woman. She recalled how the owner of the place had led her on a tour of both penthouses before she decided to rent that one: they were mirror images of each other, the layout designed like a reflection. Because of that, she knew that her bedroom and her enemy’s were wall to wall, so she could almost envision the other blonde there, just a few meters away, lying on her own bed, as if only the thinnest of boundaries separated them. “A reflection…just like her and me,” Katja cursed, knowing that that was what really bothered her. It was true that the girl’s cocky attitude had disgusted her, and of course the catfight the two of them had gotten into still made her blood burn, but none of it was comparable to the nerve center of the antagonism, which was nothing more than the feeling of having been mischievously provocatively copied by Tanja.

Her thoughts drifted to her own form and, with her hands trembling, Katja slowly began to trace the contours of her body, rekindling the feeling of superiority that she always experienced at the thought of her sexy curves. Soft, involuntary moans slipped past her nice lips as her delicate fingers traversed her sweaty, heated skin—she started at her strong thighs, her touch tender yet electric, moving upward to explore her sides. It wasn’t long before her fingers reached their ultimate destination: her large, firm breasts. Immediately, the memory of Tanja’s plump boobs coming in contact against her bra-covered pair sent thrilling, carnal shivers down Katja’s spine, leaving her breathless for a second.

“Bigger and better,” she suddenly murmured to herself, her fingers squeezing her shapely bosoms as she wanted to emphasize her point to the invisible audience in her mind—an audience in which an arrogant blonde she hated stood out. As if they had a will of their own, her nipples hardened, getting longer and longer. “My tits are bigger and better than hers.” The flashback of Tanja’s breasts feeling firm and large assaulted her at that moment. “They have to be.”

Her impure thoughts continued to arouse carnal reactions, and Katja soon felt her crotch begin to throb. She instinctively rubbed her thighs together, biting her lower lip as, with one hand, she pinched her left nipple through her bra. Then, her other hand left her boob to move down to her panties, but the invasive image of Tanja in the girl’s mind made the blonde punk rocker stop the movement midway.

“What am I doing?” she wondered in a whisper, struggling to make sense of her emotions. Confused, she put her hands to her head, as if to keep them away from her most vulnerable and pulsating spots. “Not like this, not with her.”

Determined to get Tanja Horn out of her head, Katja wrapped herself in the sheets despite her sweating and tried to think of other things. Somehow, it must have worked: she wasn’t quite sure when sleep had claimed her, but a sudden crash of thunder shook her from her dreams at some point in the long night. Startled, she jolted upright in bed, her heart racing in response to the abrupt disruption. The room was cloaked in shadows and, outside, rain pelted the windowpanes, and the howling wind sounded like a mournful cry. She was again sweating profusely, the dampness clinging to her bare skin as she lay sprawled across the sheets—she couldn’t recall when she had discarded all her lingerie.

What a storm, Katja thought. She didn’t remember the weather forecast announcing anything heavier than a gentle rain. Aware that she would not be able to go back to sleep, she slowly got out of bed and stretched her body languidly, like a she-cat waking from a nap. The tension of recent events was showing in her muscles, so the blonde pushed her arms above her head to release the stress. Katja turned then her head from side to side, letting her neck crack lightly as she did. A sense of invigoration washed over her, and she felt more awake.

Even so, an overwhelming sensation continued to haunt her, and the clone Tanja soon returned to her thoughts. Shaking her head, Katja decided she needed to get out of there, if only for a few minutes. Since the storm would not allow her to leave the building, she made the decision to make a visit to the basement laundry room—at that ungodly hour, sure that there she would have some solitude and calm that she didn’t feel right now in her own home.

Opening to her closet, she grabbed clothes without much thought. She opted for comfortable and casual clothing: a pair of black cotton shorts that gave her freedom of movement, and a tight-fitting white crop top that she decided to wear without a bra. The absence of constriction gave the blonde’s breasts a slight seductive sway, but still her generous D-cup curves were held tightly to her chest by their incredible firmness.

It’s ridiculous that I would even consider that Tanja has something like this, Katja told herself looking down at the virtues that had gotten her many fucks. Under the gentle caress of the top against her skin, the blonde could see and feel her sensitized, hardened nipples—that night, they were much more than insinuation, as they pushed against the fabric like two fleshy drills. She doesn’t stand a chance.

Katja went to the bathroom to collect the laundry basket. She didn’t want to turn on the light, being more comfortable in the darkness that was only intermittently illuminated by the bright flashes of lightning that streaked across the stormy night sky. Distant thunder rumbled like a steady, ominous drumming, in keeping with Katja’s secret thoughts. As she gathered the laundry, her eyes fell upon a black panty adorned with the symbol of the band TSOL. Her mind briefly wandered back to the memories of that passionate night with a man without a name whose torturous life was told by his sexy tattoos, and she longed for those uncomplicated moments to return. However, she knew that wouldn’t happen until she could rid herself of the new neighbor who had disrupted her life.

Katja slipped into her comfy house slippers and made her way to the front door. Stuffing her house keys into the small back pocket of her cotton pants, she grabbed the doorknob—she startled a little as she felt how cold it was compared to the warmth of her bare hand. Silently, Katja stepped outside, closing behind her, and found herself back on the place which, once unremarkable, just a mere prelude to her home, had now acquired the status of a battlefield. The blonde’s heart raced as memories of their recent fight in front of the penthouse doors replayed vividly in her thoughts. For an irrational moment, she really contemplated knocking on Tanja’s door, unfinished business and unresolved tension with her new neighbor acting as a siren song luring her to the sharp rocks of the sea that were the epicenter of their newborn rivalry.

The temptation was strong but, in the end, Katja mustered the strength to step away from the door. She knew that confronting Tanja at that moment wouldn’t lead to anything good, and would only serve to provoke an altercation with other neighbors and, ultimately, the police. With the storm still raging outside, the punk beauty decided to leave things alone, at least for now, and started down the stairs.

Carrying her laundry basket, Katja descended in complete silence, each step causing the soft fabric of her tight-fitting top to rub against her stiff nipples and send little tingles down her spine. When she finally she reached the basement, she entered the private laundry room of the building, and looked around: the heavy rain drummed against three small windows at street level that allowed a soft, muted glow from the streetlamps to penetrate the place, casting elongated shadows that danced across the rows of washing machines and dryers, neatly lined up in perfect order. Occasional bursts of lightning briefly pushed the shadows away from the room while Katja carefully placed her laundry basket on one of the empty tables, her mind still occupied with thoughts of her problems with Tanja. She knew that that was more than just about laundry—it was an opportunity to clear her head and regain her focus.

Katja reached for a few pieces of lingerie, her fingers trembling slightly as she dropped them into the open maw of the washing machine’s drum. The familiar, almost meditative routine provided a brief respite from her racing mind. As she pushed the drum closed and reached for the detergent, a nearby frightening thunder rumbled in the basement, making her jump. Startled, her senses went on high alert, and instinctively her blue eyes darted over her shoulder. The rain intensified as lightning flashed beyond the windows and, just at that electrifying moment of sparkling clarity, with the storm literally bearing down on the building, Katja saw the woman who kept obsessively, maliciously haunting her thoughts. There, at the entrance to the laundry room, stood the embodiment of her confusion and her hunger for hatred, clutching a red basket of dirty clothes in both hands. For a moment, Katja’s heart stopped as Tanja Horn’s gaze met hers, and an aura of tense, charged silence insulated the two blondes from the chaos outside.

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Words: 1810.