by Alexis Angel
I guess that’s what I get for shooting in burst mode.
If I were a better photographer, I’d find a way to stop myself. But when getting laid is this easy, why deny myself the pleasure?
Besides…there are other benefits to turning this photo shoot into a noisy off-the-walls fuck session. Benefits like what happens when I stick all twelve inches of my cock so deep in this ditzy-ass lingerie model that her next orgasm comes with a scream.
At that point, I go balls-deep and just fucking wait for it.
Hell, I’m looking forward to it so much that I’m actually holding my breath.
And then, right on cue…
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
At the noise, a brief look of confusion crosses the face of the lingerie model.
I just thumb her clit and make her come again as a smug fucking grin spreads across my own face. The next round of thumps shakes the floor beneath the bed so hard that it makes the mattress shake.
But it’s not nearly as satisfying as the next sound that rises up through the floorboards.
“Goddammit, 33D! We get it! Christ! You’ve got a big dick—give it up already!”
Ahh. Like a workweek alarm going off on a Saturday morning. It’s the dulcet tone of my very favorite voice.
32D—the gorgeous, hateful little bitch who lives beneath me.
Shit, I wouldn’t mind having her beneath me in a few other ways, if you know what I mean. Long, dark hair. Ruby red lips. Eyes the color of black rum.
And her apartment number is the same as her bra size.
Other than that, all I know about her is that she hates me—and that she’s fucking tired of me fucking so loudly over her apartment. Not that I’m about to stop or anything.
Nah. If anything, I just start fucking the model in my bed even harder.
She starts moaning even louder, too. Too many orgasms, my ass.
She’s fucking loving this.
Shame that 32D doesn’t share the sentiment.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! goes the broom that I know 32D must be using to pound away at her ceiling while I pound away at this broad. Her rhythm is fucking excellent, too.
In fact, I make a point of matching my own rhythm to hers. It makes the bed shake in time—and makes the lingerie model come louder than ever.
“GET. A. FUCKING. ROOM!” I hear 32D yell up through the floorboards.
“I’ve already got one, sweetheart!” I yell back down at her. “Maybe you’d like to come up and see it sometime?”
“Why don’t you come down here and fight me, asshole!” 32D yells back. “GET A ROOM THAT’S NOT RIGHT OVER MY FUCKING DESK!”
Fuck me. That’s the point when I just fucking lose it. I don’t know what it is about 32D yelling at me like that—but it always makes me blow my load.
I don’t even see it coming. I hear her cute, pissed off little voice shouting up through the floorboards at me like that, and I can’t fucking help myself. I just fucking explode.
I leave the lingerie model in my bed as I head into the bathroom to grab a drink of water.
I make sure to tip the contents of my condom into the bathroom trash before I toss it. There’s a lot of daddy sauce in that thing, and I don’t want any hopeful future mommies trying to smuggle my condoms out of here in their purses again—which happens more often than you’d think.
As I run my fingers through my thick, messy sandy blond hair and look myself in the greens of my eyes in the mirror, I have the weirdest fucking thought, though.
32D. I wonder what color hair she likes.
Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the kind of men she has over to her place.
It’s hard not to keep track when it’s only one or two a year.
Last year, she invited a staggering three to stay the night. A pretentious-looking ginger, a douchebag of a brunet, and some bleach-blonde asshole in a leather jacket.
This year, though, there hasn’t been anyone. I figure 32D has either given up on sex entirely or gone gay. Either way…Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be the one to fix that.
By the time I finish my glass of water, I’m rock fucking hard again. Figures. When you want to go soft, you think of baseball and grandma.
When you want to get hard…you think of 32D.
“Ready for round two?” I stand in the doorway of the bathroom, cock in hand.
“OMG, what?! I thought—”
“You thought wrong.” I smirk, seeing how fucking exhausted she is—and watching her spread her legs for me anyway.
But when I stick it in her, it’s not her that I’m thinking of.
It’s that mouthy, dark-eyed bitch downstairs.
When I make the model cum again, I can practically hear the frustration in 32D’s broom-thumps against my ceiling.
That’s it, baby. Tell Daddy what you don’t fuckin’ like.
Erin
“Oh, god! Fletcher! Please!”
I shake my head and sneer into my coffee cup. “Em, where the fuck does he even find these bimbos?”
Emilia just rolls her eyes. “I dunno, babe. I feel like every dude who lives here in Bradford is just—”
“A massive pussy-gargling douchebag?”
We look at each other like I just took the words right out of her mouth then erupt into laughter.
“At least Evan doesn’t live right over you.” I watch her roll her baby blues again and roll mine right back. “Trust me, babe. Having a dick over your head all night is way worse than having one down the hall.”
“I don’t know about that.” Em shoots me a saucy smile over her latte. “Maybe having a dick over your head is exactly what you need right now.”
I hold up my hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there—because no. Nope. Absolutely not. Sex is the last thing I need right now. I’m so done with dudes, Em. They’re momentary distractions at best, and I don’t need any distractions right now.”
It’s the truth, too. If I want to get into my first-choice master’s program here in the city at NYU, I need to make this application fucking solid. I’ve been up all night at my computer for months editing this film together—not that it’s going to matter at this point.
Because every fucking night for years, 33D has been up all night making my lights flicker and the pictures on my walls shake. I don’t know how the fuck he does it—I mean, he can’t be banging these poor hoes that hard, right?
What I do know is that when he does it, I can’t fucking concentrate.
“All I’m saying is that if you were the one he was fucking, you wouldn’t be so bothered by it.” Em sips at her latte and leans back, looking smug.
I narrow my eyes at her glossy blonde waves. “That sounds like sleeping with the enemy. Besides, I think he likes blondes. Why don’t you take one for the team?”
Em nearly spits her mouthful of latte out at me. “Girl—no. 33D is your problem, not mine. And the only solution is to let him slip you his 33D, catch my drift.”
I can’t help it—the idea of banging the fuckboy who lives above me is so fucking laughable, I totally lose it. I laugh so hard I nearly spill my dark roast all over my sweater.
Then, I laugh so hard that I totally do.
“God.” I grab some napkins and start to mop up the mess I’ve made. “Does that mean your solution to your Evan problem is taking his dick, too?”
“Hell no.” Em crosses her arms over her chest. “There are dicks you deal with in bed and dicks you deal with by staying the fuck away from them. Your dick, my dear, is the former. Mine is the latter. End of story.”
“All I’m saying is…” I glance down at my phone and notice the time. “Shit. I gotta go, babe. My special effects should be finished rendering—and I’m down to the wire on this thing as is.”
I rifle around in my purse, searching for cash or card, but Em stops me before I can even get through the first layer of lipstick and tampons.
“I’ve got this. Go.”
I grin at her. “Leave the poor waitress a big tip?
”
“I will,” Em promises—and then she grins back at me. “As long as you promise you’ll let 33D give you his big tip—”
I flip her off as I gather up my shit and race out the door of the coffee shop.
I’m breathless by the time I get up to my apartment, and I immediately fucking regret it. Not only is the scene not done rendering—it looks like my computer has decided to run updates while I was away, so I’ve probably lost that chunk of the project entirely.
While I wait for the piece of shit to finish updating, I do all the dishes in my sink.
I clean out my fridge, tossing out a jar of expired mayo and an ancient half-finished can of a brand of beer I don’t even drink.
I take a shower, washing the day out of my long, dark hair and shaving my legs silky smooth.
Then, since the computer is only at 87%, I shave my pussy too.
Who for? I don’t even know.
I haven’t gotten laid since I finished my undergrad—and at this point, I’m not even sure I want to anymore. When you’ve been off the dick for long enough, you start to feel like maybe it’s totally irrelevant, you know?
Like, this is my new life as a totally celibate wannabe film student. When I make it big, they’ll put me on the Suspected Asexuals page on Wikipedia with Tesla and Lovecraft and Morrissey.
Which still begs the question of why I’m sitting here on the edge of the tub with my legs spread and baby oil all over my muff.
I guess, when it comes down to it, I’m shaving my pussy for, well, me. I don’t do it because I’m supposed to, or because I’m ashamed of my own pubic hair. I do it because dammit, it feels nice!
But then, of course, the ceiling starts shaking again as soon as I touch blade to skin—33D must have brought home a new friend. I nearly fucking cut myself when she screams in orgasm, and what should have been a nice, relaxing evening quickly leaves me feeling grumpy and pissed off.
I finish up and slump into my bed totally naked, glaring at the ceiling. It doesn’t even make sense to get the broom out at this point—once 33D gets started, he can go for hours if he wants to.
My computer is at 99% and frozen, so it’s not like I could do any work anyway.
But as I lay there listening to 33D’s latest lady friend begging for his cock…
I don’t even know what comes over me, but it definitely disqualifies me from my dreams of being next to Morrissey on a Wikipedia page.
My fingers slide up and down the smooth, silken lips of my pussy. It’s still lightly oiled from my shave—and so help me god, it’s wet.
Not just from the water, either.
It’s wet wet. Sticky with honey.
When I spread my legs, I can smell myself.
I listen to 33D’s little sexcapade for a little while, not touching myself or anything—just listening in.
I think he must have at least three girls up there—and here I am, listening to them fucking like a pervert. Like a bitch in heat.
I’ve never gone from horny to pissed off so fast in my life. Getting horny listening to 33D fucking? This isn’t like me at all.
I come to the only reasonable conclusion I’ve got: living beneath this douchebag is mental warfare, and he’s finally pushed me to a breaking point.
I’ve cracked. I’ve snapped. And now I’m getting wet to the sound of his bed shaking, which is the only evidence I need to assure me that I’ve officially lost my fucking mind.
I hop out of bed, seething. As I pull on a fresh, deep blue oversized sweater and a pair of long socks, I don’t even think about grabbing the broom.
No—I’m marching up there right now and giving 33D a piece of my mind.
This shit ends tonight.
Fletcher
I’ve never been so bored in a four-way in my life.
French girls, right? Fine as hell, but they taste like cigarettes, cheap wine, and stale baguettes.
I was chatting up the blonde, then the redhead at the bar earlier tonight. Just when I was about to drop a cheap line about taking this ménage à trois back to my place at the Bradford, their blue-haired friend came back from the bathroom and suddenly we were talking ménage à quatre.
Don’t get me wrong here—I’m a red-blooded American man, and I have nothing in particular against horny French libertines. In fact, a year or two ago, I would have been coming all over all three of their high-cheekboned faces before they could say sacré fucking bleu—
But either I’m off my game, or I’m just not into four-ways anymore. Tonight, I just couldn’t care less.
I mean, sure. Obviously, I fuck ‘em anyway.
I bend the blonde over the ottoman and do to her what the Russians did to Napoleon.
I take the redhead on the floor by the fireplace until she’s screaming, “Mon Dieu! MON DIEU!”
And I let the bluenette suck me off all she fucking wants—but it doesn’t change anything.
My dick is hard, my balls are aching for release, and my inner caveman is doing everything in its power to convince me to sow seed in all this French pussy…
But man, my heart just isn’t into it.
To my surprise, as the blonde and the redhead drop to their knees on either side of the blue-haired one, I just find myself holding my breath and listening in.
The blonde was yelping like an overexcited poodle on her first day at the dog park just a few minutes ago, so it’s not like we’re not making a ruckus.
Not to mention the shit the redhead was yelling while I gave her multiple consecutive anal orgasms just there on the floor. Either she came so hard she started speaking in tongues, or I seriously need to brush up on my French.
Even now, all the cooing and sighing that these three are doing over my cock has to be reverberating through the floorboards and making 32D grind her pearly white teeth.
So I hold that thought in my head like a promise to my aching balls: pretty soon, her pretty little fingers are going to be wrapping around the hard, thick shaft of her broomstick, and she’ll start ramming it against the ceiling so hard that…
“Do you want to fuck me?” the bluenette gasps, looking up at me with hungry eyes.
I grab her head and push her mouth back down on my cock.
When I picked these three up, I thought the accent was going to be a turn-on.
Instead, it turns out that it just fucking annoys me. And when I’m getting head from three Parisian bimbos at once, the only person who should be getting annoyed is 32-fucking-D.
So where the hell is she?
I know for a fact that she’s gotta be in her apartment. I swear, the only time she ever leaves is to go out for coffee with her mouthy blonde friend.
Otherwise, she’s sitting at home, doing whatever the fuck it is that 32D does when I’m not getting laid—and yelling at me through the floorboards when I am.
But apparently, not tonight.
It crosses my mind that she might be out on a date. All work and no dick isn’t a way for anyone to live—especially not a woman as fine as 32D is.
I bet she’s got no fucking problem getting dates, either. Even though I have her pegged as a fucking shut in—she probably has to turn down twelve marriage proposals daily on the way to that coffee shop alone.
A woman like her…of course she’s on a date.
Probably with another pretentious asswipe who doesn’t fucking deserve her.
That shouldn’t piss me off so bad…
But, Christ. It does. It fucking does.
“Are you okay?” the bluenette asks.
She’s giving me that look that says, Put it in me, and I figure, yeah, I probably ought to…
Then I hear it.
Not 32D’s thumping on the floorboards beneath me.
Not her shrill little voice yelling up through her ceiling.
But instead…a firm little knock on the door.
I make the blonde one answer.
And then there she is.
32D in all her hot, angry, sweater-clad
glory.
She’s seriously wearing next to nothing. A sweater that barely covers her sexy little ass. A pair of long socks that go up to her thighs. Glasses—good lord, those sexy fucking glasses.
There’s a look on her face that says she’s here to start some shit. I get twice as hard as I already am, just anticipating what that shit might be.
What can I say? I fucking love me a mouthy, nerdy little brunette.
“32D.” I put on my most charming grin and salute both above the waist and below it.
“33D,” she says back.
“Neighborly visit?”
“Hardly.”
“Wanna tag in?”
Her scowl deepens—and then it turns fucking sassy.
Goddamn. I fucking love sassy.
“Four girls at once? I don’t think even you could handle that.”
The naked blonde at the door is looking at me like who invited this nerd?
The redhead and the other one are still marveling at the way my big, fat, twelve-inch cock just got even bigger.
And me? I’m already imagining what 32D’s eyes are going to look like behind those glasses when I fuck them crossed.
“You’re right,” I say with a laugh.
“Huh?”
Whatever 32D was expecting from me…well, it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Which makes this next part all the sweeter.
“Ladies,” I address the nude French women. “It’s been lovely, but I’m afraid something’s just come up.”
I give my cock an obligatory glance.
“But—” the blue-haired one says, but frankly, I’m already shifting gears here.
They can stay, or they can leave—I don’t fucking care at this point.
32D is standing here in my doorway with a look on her face like she’s not sure whether she wants to kiss me or smack me.
Either way…I know I’m in for a wild fucking night.
Erin
I’ve never seen a man tell his four-way partners to fuck off mid-bang before, but 33D fucking does it. Somehow, I doubt it’ll be the last impressive sight of tonight. Watching him stand there, naked and too fucking gorgeous for words, I still feel my frustration at him bubbling in my chest like a pot of water boiling over.