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.
Three
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…