I liked my new place. Maybe it was a little small, but it was an expensive luxury condo, and what made me really happy about it was the walls were painted blue--that soft, tranquil kind of blue that makes you forget everything you knew before.
Also, my neighbors seemed nice enough. I had met two of them, a couple, in the elevator briefly while bringing up my endless boxes of books. The woman was very warm and friendly and introduced herself as "Ali." She was rather stunning, in her mid-thirties with a tall, slim, willowy body and great, flowing legs beneath her cut-off shorts. She had clear blue eyes and long, silky blonde hair.
Her boyfriend's name was "David." He was older, early fifties, stocky, and about him there was... I couldn't find the words... A sort of unspoken yet intense sensual overpowering. Dark hair and a pair of hazel eyes I could lose myself in. Something wicked danced in those eyes, and it was somehow stirring yet terrifying, like when you want something so bad you're in horror of what you'd do for it.
The things I would do for this man... I suddenly thought. I shivered at myself.
I was divorced but still young, in my late twenties. My ex was my high school sweetheart, and I'd had no experience with men before him, except for childhood attempts at kissing. I perhaps was a strange sort of child to begin with. My stepfather collected porn mags in our attic, stacks and stacks of them. Nobody knew I went up there for hours, poring over those pictures of people with their faces etched in drugged ecstasy. Women with men between their legs in jacuzzi's, women sucking each others' breasts on bales of hay... My young body ached for what I saw and I knew no way of getting it, it seemed like something that could only be granted if one was an "adult," and I knew nothing of masturbation or orgasm. I just would lie in my little white canopy bed at night, my body arching and yearning and tossing between the sheets for a man to appear above me and ease the constant throbbing between my legs...
My husband had been kind and handsome. We were married at eighteen, and I thought the sex I had yearned for would be finally mine. But for some reason Henry's lovemaking left me cold and yearning. He'd climb on top of me and turn his face away from mine and push himself in and out of my vagina for about two minutes... And then it was over. I just felt undesired, unwanted.
One day as I was shopping for a Christmas present for Henry in the mall I saw a man sprawled on a bench. He looked rough, unshaven. A gold chain hung down his exposed chest curling with black hair, his forearms showing the tantalizing tips of snake-like tattoos. The way he looked at me... The images that flashed into my mind were raw and visceral. I looked at the bulge in his tight jeans and imagined dropping my packages and sliding down between his legs, tugging at the belt of his fly and unzipping it, his beautiful cock straining upwards, hard and painfully engorged, aching for me to free it with my soft hand.
For I yearned deeply - no, I was haunted by the need - to know the taste of a man, the feel of him in my mouth, to lick and suck at his balls as he ran his hands roughly through my long black curly tresses... To know if he would enjoy it from me. For I had to be undesirable, it seemed. Why else would Henry be so uncomfortable fucking me? I felt ugly, and ashamed for the slut I was. Once I had tried reaching my hand down towards Henry's cock but he slapped it away with a firm, resounding No.
And so I started watching porn videos clandestinely in the evenings when Henry was asleep. (I had found a little discreet shop not too far away from the mall.) My flesh felt fevered and seared as I watched the exact things I craved for but could not have in this life, neither as a child or as a woman. I watched a woman in ponytails and a cheerleader's skirt raised to her waist crouching on the floor, legs spread open wide to the camera as she slapped her fingers against her pink, wet pussy, so wet it seemed to have glossed the tops of her inner thighs. All the while a man stood beside her and she pumped his lovely, thick cock with the beautiful smooth head with her long, red finger-nailed hand, swirling her tongue around the tip, letting it enter and leave her mouth with a satisfying plop. She playfully slapped the head against her mouth and face. Then she began sucking him voraciously and took him in as far as she could, gagging on his length, and for some reason I really liked this, because whenever she'd come back up for air the beautiful shimmering strands of saliva (or was it precum?) would be connected from her mouth to the tip of his engorged dick, and oh, he would be moaning, moaning so loudly, saying, "That's it, baby. Be Daddy's good girl and take that cock..."
And so I would begin the nightly ritual of squirming in my chair, trying to rub my clit against the thick fabric. Every time his cock drove deep into her mouth I could feel my cunt quivering and pulsing and grasping at air, trying to milk the cock of an invisible ghost. Pinching and twisting hard at my swollen nipples and slipping my hand under my nightgown and finding my own naked pussy pooling with wetness, taking my juices and rubbing them over my clit in two or three circles, and I was cumming so hard, clear hot cum squirting into the red lace fabric, my legs feeling warm and sticky and about to collapse from under me.
But something else always stayed with me... Sometimes the man would spank the woman on her ass, and she'd let out a little shriek or moan, and the skin there would grow pink, the soft flesh jiggling with the force, and how truly terrified I was at this.
Because I wanted it so badly.
* * *
It was two nights after I had met my neighbors in the elevator that I heard strange sounds coming from behind the walls of my bedroom. And I knew instinctively the source of those sounds were Ali and David.
For such an expensive condo the walls seemed paper-thin. I hadn't been able to sleep and was just laying on top of the covers listening to modern jazz, since its wordless dissonance was something that could always take the focus off the violent turmoil of thoughts in my head. I didn't wear lace nightgowns to bed anymore, I slept in a tight baby tee and pink gym shorts.
I thought I could hear something, and I could swear it was a soft, fleshy surface being slapped, and hard. Then I heard a sound that made me press my thighs together, close my eyes and do this little thing I do when I'm aroused: I knit my brow and my tongue pushes hard against the back of my two bottom-front teeth. As if I'm making a soundless Mmmmm.
I knew it was Ali, and she was moaning as if in a delirium. The slapping sounds continued for what seemed like hours, and then all I could hear was... Nothing. But I could feel the shaking of the wall at the head of my bed.
I was squeezing my thighs together as firmly as possible, savoring the warm pulse of lust coursing through my aching tits and pussy. I happened to like my tits and I would play with them often, they were somewhat large with large areolae, big enough that I could take my hands and push them into my mouth to suck.
And the shaking of the walls created a rhythm that seemed to beat within me, in my very blood. I began to hear gasping sounds, and a deep, masculine groan. Had David actually been spanking her? I realized my mouth was dry and my chest was rising and falling rapidly. He must have spanked her, punished her (I moaned aloud) and was then obviously fucking her... I imagined that gorgeous silken hair spread across the pillow like some ethereal flower as David held her legs wide apart, drilling his dick deep inside her tight, wet hole. Or maybe she was riding him reverse-cowgirl style (which I loved as well), his hands tangled in that impossibly golden hair as she moved up and down, swallowing his cock deep inside, his beautiful balls swinging like pendulums under her perfect ass...
I licked my parched lips. As the sounds continued in greater rhythm and intensity, I thought I would go mad from what this couple was doing to me.
I had crossed the line of sanity. Or maybe it was my body that did so. No matter, I knew I had to see them.
* * *
I left my condo in my baby tee and shorts. I had put on long white running socks and a pair of classic white Keds. My black curly hair I twisted hastily into a wild chignon and clipped it with a baby blue hair clip.
I knocked at the door. I was trembling, and muffled shuffling noises seemed to emanate from within.
It was David who answered. He was hastily pulling on a black terry cloth robe. His face and the naked expanse of his chest that I could see was misted with a fine sheen of sweat.
Oh God, this man. Why did I want this man so much? And why had I done this? They would surely be pissed at a relative stranger interrupting their nightly adventures.
But David just looked at me. Even his eyes on me made me hunger, pulsate even more. I began to stammer, forgetting what I had planned to say as an excuse for coming over.
"I, um, I'm so sorry for disturbing you this late... I was wondering if I might borrow some, some... Sugar."
