Thursday Night

The headboard thudded rhythmically against the wall. The man on top of me, Steve, I think? Grunted in time with his efforts. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like that dick in your little hole, don’t you?”

With his face against my neck, sweating on my face, he couldn’t see me roll my eyes. “Yeah, baby, I like that.” I used my best porn star moan and tried to angle my hips to get better friction, penetration, anything. It didn’t help, or at least, it didn’t help me. Steve-or-Seth-or-maybe-Scott shuddered, his movement becoming even less coordinated, and flopped on top of me. I felt his dick slide out of me like a dead fish.

“Oh, Sherry, that was amazing. That was so good.” He rolled off of me, panting and sated.

I was still wearing most of my clubbing outfit, short skirt and thong pushed out of the way by S-is-for-something in his fumbling haste to fuck me. “Yeah, yeah, so good.” I stretched and pantomimed a yawn. “Listen, I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so I’m just gonna get a shower, ok? You can find your way out, right?” I rolled out of bed and started toward the bathroom.

Simon-Sleipnir-Scott looked like I’d slapped him, but he nodded and started putting his pants back on. “Yeah, sure, I hear ya. Big day tomorrow. When, uh, when can I see you again?” He tried to come up behind me and put his hands on my hips, trying for a seductive tone that mostly sounded pathetic.

“I’ll call you, ok? I’ve got your number.” I did not, in fact, have his number, and would have sooner set my phone on fire than call him. I slipped from his grasp and into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I heard him grumbling under his breath, before I finally heard the apartment door open and close behind him. With a deep sigh, I stripped off my clothes, depositing them in the hamper, and stepped into the shower. I needed to scrub that man out of my pores.

After a brief but vicious shower, I toweled my hair dry and ripped open a fresh pack of D-cell batteries. Unlike S-is-for-Sad, BOB never let me down. My battery-operated bestie, a top of the line vibe with all the features, clitoral suction, long and thick, multiple patterns and just the right curve. BOB knew what I needed and would give it to me as long as I needed it. Or until the batteries ran out, whichever came first.

I turned on my Self Love playlist, lubed up Bobby, and let him work his magic. It didn’t take long for my first orgasm to rip through me, forcing a moan from my lips and curling my toes. Bob didn’t stop, and I rode that wave into the next, and the next, until pleasure bordered on pain.

“That,” I thought, chest heaving and legs trembling, “was good.”

But deep down, it wasn’t enough.

Bob can make me cum, make me scream and writhe, but Bob can’t grab me by the waist, flip me on my stomach, pull my hair, and make me call him Daddy. And good lord, especially after whatever Sad Steve had been doing, I needed someone who could.

Maybe one more round with Bob would help me get to sleep.

Friday Evening

I was scrolling through a dating app, swiping through eligible singles in my area, waiting for my ride to the club. There were some good-looking fish in the sea, but not many. There were also some familiar faces I did not want to see again. I grimaced, swiping away from another disappointing memory.

The app made an unfamiliar pinging sound, and I checked my notifications. I’d matched with someone, and he was within 10 meters. Whoa, creepy. But also, looking at his pictures, maybe I was into that kind of creepy? Nice body, and some nice ink on his left arm. I sent him a winking emoji, gathered up my bag, and ran out to catch my ride.

Later

The elevator was slow, but Adam-Alan-Alex-whatever didn’t want to take the stairs. He was kissing my neck and grinding against me, and my hopes that he would be what I’d been looking for were dimming. The doors opened, and I steered us out into the hallway, toward my door, fishing out my keys. “Mm, yeah, that’s nice. Uh huh. Yeah.”

Key in the lock, I heard my neighbor’s door open.

“You’re not really going to go to bed with this guy, are you? If I have to listen to you fucking these losers, you could at least choose guys who don’t bore you before you even get through the door.”

Anthony-Aaron-Abracadabra froze. “Who the fuck are you, man?”

“I’m the neighbor who knows what it sounds like when she’s actually into it, and what it sounds like when she’s playing along. And bro, she is not into it.”

I should have been mortified, but I was fascinated. My neighbor, Dylan, was a few inches taller than me at 5’9”, with the kind of muscle that came from working with his hands and not from a gym. His waist was lean, forearms corded and tan. His hair was dark, cut uniformly short, and his left shoulder and bicep were covered by a complicated tattoo that looked vaguely familiar. He was wearing dark jeans and a tank top, arms folded over his chest. He looked… annoyed.

“I haven’t heard a better offer.” I arched an eyebrow at Dylan, Archimedes-Arod-Aspartame all but forgotten.

Dylan smirked. “Get out of here, Chuck. You’re not getting your dick wet tonight.” He closed on me, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. “You’re a naughty girl, Cherry.”

“It’s Sherry, actually.”

“Cherry is sweeter. Open the door.”

He hadn’t even touched me yet and I was already shaking.

The minute the door opened, Dylan pushed us through, slamming it behind him, and shoved me up against the wall. One of his legs between mine, his body hard against mine, his lips bruisingly intense everywhere they touched. He ripped my shirt open, buttons flying, and pulled it down over my shoulders. The fabric bunched around my elbows and forearms, holding my arms immobilized behind me, and I whined, arching against him.

He chuckled, pulling off his shirt. “So impatient.” He kissed me, his tongue pressing past my lips and tasting me thoroughly, his hands squeezing my breasts, tweaking my nipples through my bra. I groaned into his mouth, rocking my hips into his, pressing my hungry pussy against his thigh. One of his hands snaked down between us and unzipped his fly, the vibration almost sending me over the edge. I felt his cock spring free, pressing against me through the thin, soaked fabric of my panties.

His voice growled against my throat. “Tested?”

“Clean, last Thursday.” I was gasping, desperate. I never got like this.

“Same, Wednesday. Birth control?”

“Pill.”

“You want this?”

“God yes,” I hissed.

“Good.” With no further preamble, he pulled my panties aside and thrust into me. He was thick, but I was so wet. The sudden intrusion, stretching my walls, had me howling. He grasped my hips, wrapping one of my legs around his waist, and got to work. His piston-like thrusts, his mouth nipping and licking across my neck and chest, his fingers marking me where they pressed into my skin, it was exactly what I’d been looking for, what the parade of losers and Bob couldn’t give me. I moaned, and shrieked, and convulsed on his cock and he just kept going.

Dylan’s grip suddenly became tighter, and there was a tremor in his voice when he grunted, “Where?” and waited for me to gasp, “Inside” before filling me with jets of thick cum. Three more jarring strokes and he was spent, releasing one hand from my hip to brace against the wall.

“Fuuuck…” I exhaled. If I’d known my neighbor could fuck like that…

He was still inside me, and I realized he was still more than half hard. Once his breathing steadied, he pulled back and grinned at me. “You didn’t think we were done yet, sweet Cherry, did you?” He wrapped my legs around his waist and carried me to my couch, settling down with me on top of him.

“Get my arms free, I want to touch you.”

He chuckled, thrusting up against me, making me tremble. “This not enough touching for you? Greedy girl.” But he pulled the shirt sleeves off my arms.

I pulled his face to mine, kissing him deeply, rolling my hips. “I am greedy. And you’ve just shown me I can have what I want and come back for more.”

“Mmhmm…” He thrust into me again. I steadied myself, arms on his shoulders, sliding up and down his shaft, our mingled fluids making us slick, making a wet slapping sound on each down stroke. I took it slow, teasing myself as much as him, working myself toward orgasm but never quite reaching it.

For his part, Dylan skimmed his hands over my sides, unzipping my skirt, unfastening my bra. He worshiped my breasts with his mouth and kneaded my ass cheeks while I rode him. When my breathing came in short gasps and mewls, he gripped me tighter against him and growled, “Cum for me, Cherry.”

He bucked his hips against me hard, and my mind shattered.

By the time I came down, he’d rolled me onto my back, my legs over his shoulders, knees bent back to my chest, and he was slamming into me with animalistic intensity. Every one of his thrusts drove a moan from my lips. My pussy walls trembled under the onslaught.

Again, he grunted, “Where?” But I was too far gone to reply. With a final vicious stroke, he pulled out of me and came on my stomach, before falling back against the arm of the couch.

My legs trembled and twitched. Aftershocks vibrated through me. With my eyes half-closed, I heard Dylan’s breathing slow, heard him pad through my apartment to the bathroom (of course he knew where it was; his unit was exactly the same) and come back with a wet washcloth. He cleaned his cum off my stomach and wiped the mess from between my legs, and pulled a blanket over me. I heard him pull on his clothes.

Before leaving, he crouched down next to my head and murmured, “I don’t want to hear you getting fucked unless they’re doing it right. And if you need a reminder of what that sounds like, you know where to find me.”