I keep playing with this one and am liking where it’s going. Debating whether it should be third person. Feedback and critique welcome!
***
It’s a spring, rainy Saturday afternoon: warm air, cold rain. You’re walking out of your apartment and you see me in the hall walking into my apartment, next door. I’m wearing a worn flannel shirt, some old jeans with paint splotches all over, knees torn, and carrying a laden bag of Home Depot stuff. I’m drenched too; it looks like someone (me) forgot their umbrella. There’s a puddle of water where I’ve been standing while fiddling for my keys.
“Hey there Kurt,” you say, smiling, as you step into the hallway. You’re wearing a flowing spring sundress, hanging by straps from your freckled shoulders. Even in our sunless shared entry hallway, I make mental note of its semi-transparentness, then shake it off. I realize I haven’t seen you without your mask. I thought you were gorgeous before, but now?
“Hi Miya,” I respond, cheerfully. Some water drips from me to the floor.
“You’re in marketing right? But I guess you’re a handyman too?” you say, nodding to the Home Depot bag.
I laugh, “I’m handy When I need to be! Actually I’m working on some closet doors. Our landlord sucks, you know, and I’m tired of them not working and him not doing anything, so I’m doing it myself.”
You smile again, looking me up and down, your eyes finally resting at that puddle forming on the floor.
“Hey Kurt,” you say, with an idea, “How about being handy for *me* today?” You smile and look sideways, maybe that didn’t come out the way you meant, and you try again, “I have a washing machine that leaks. I’ve tried, uh, staring at it? That didn’t fix it. Maybe you could take a look for me?” You smile a big smile.
Your smile causes a little flutter in my stomach. I smile back. “I’d love to be your handyman,” I say, laughing a bit and looking away because I feel a blush coming on. “How about I swing by after I get things wrapped up over here. Maybe around 4?”
“Perfect,” you smile back (whew), “I’m supposed to be heading on a date,” you motion to your outfit, “around 7 or 8, so 4 is great!” You walk down the hall to the mailboxes, leaving me with my puddle.
***
It’s a little after four when I knock on your door.
“Hey handyman,” you say, as you open the door. I think you’re checking me out again. The flannel and jeans must do it for you. I like the attention.
“My washing machine is in the closet. As you know. Because our apartments are probably the same.”
“Right,” I say, carrying my tool bucket in.
“Help yourself,” you say, as you turn towards me. I walk by, the hallway is a little tight, and you turn your body just a little to walk forward. My upper arm brushes against your breast – purely accidentally of course – and it sends a little tingle through me. I’ve been around family, tried to date during the pandemic, but this little exchange feels…different. Hotter?
“Excuse me,” I say.
“I don’t mind,” you say, smiling as I walk by.
“Hey,” you call, as I walk to the closet. “You want a beer? It’s the least I can do if you’re fixing my washing machine”
“Sure,” I call back. “And no promises on fixing this? I’m only an expert in watching youtube videos about fixing appliances.” As I get set-up in the laundry closet, I hear you rummaging in the fridge. You arrive a few moments later with two open beers.
“IPAs. I know I’m supposed to like sours or pilsners or something,” you say. “But I’m still just a plain old IPA girl.”
“Hey, a beer’s a beer,” I say, and I take the bottle, chink it with yours. “Cheers,” I say, then taking a swig. “Cheers,” you reply.
“Well let’s see what’s happening,” I put the beer on the dryer and get to work. “By the way Miya, nice washing machine,” I say, admiring the older model.
“You’re joking right? It was my mom’s. It still works. Or did, anyway.” You smile and walk away, and I start looking around.
“I admire anything that’s easy to fix,” I say as I start poking around. “The newer models cost hundreds to replace a button. Anyway . . .” Yeah, I’ve watched too many washing machine youtube videos.
“I need to do some cleaning up so I’m around if you need anything,” I hear you say as you walk out of the room. I give a thumbs up from behind the machine.
***
After an hour or so of amateur appliances repair guy detective work, unscrewing panels, testing the water (and getting my shirt wet when I forget to turn off the water), I finally figure out what’s wrong. It’s actually two simple things: a valve inside the washing machine that controls flow needs a new washer, and there’s a leak in the hose from the cold water to the washing machine. I should have the washer and – surprisingly enough – an extra hose back at my apartment (I have a weird habit of storing all the extra parts I buy).
As I’m getting standing up to go back to my apartment for the washer and hose, you walk up with a second beer. And also a button has come undone on your sundress, somehow (“somehow,” ha) since when you welcomed me in. Maybe it was you working hard cleaning up. Or maybe you’re trying to let me see more of you. Regardless, I can now see the gentle slope of your breasts, the pale white tops of your breasts between the crevice of fabric. “Here’s another beer!” you say, offering another one of the IPAs.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing the beer, trying not to look like I’m obviously staring at your chest. “I have to go back to my place for some parts. I’ll be right back?” It’s good timing, because my cock is hardening and in these older, tighter jeans, you’d have definitely seen it growing.
“Ok, just be sure to come back” you say, smiling with a nod.
I put the beer on the washing machine and walk past you – you stand still this time, and our bodies brush against each other. I am pretty sure you kept your hand at your side on purpose, because I feel your hand “accidentally” brush against my hardening penis.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it. I see myself out, rummage around in my apartment, and a few minutes later I come back with the parts. I let myself in (“Hey,” I say when I enter) but I don’t hear anything back so I make my way to the washing machine and start working. It takes another thirty minutes to disconnect everything, remove the panel, and install the new parts.
Meanwhile the happy hour beers are kicking in. I feel a nice level-headed tipsiness. I’m a big guy, you quite a bit shorter, and I’m wondering if you’re feeling as tipsy as I am.
When I’m done hooking everything up, I start the washing machine. It’s an older machine so it starts up loud, water pouring heavy into the roller. I bend over the back of the machine, checking in the back for any leaks. Good! Not seeing any. When I stand back up, I see you in the hall behind me, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, beer in hand. You’ve been watching me bend over the washing machine. Not sure whether what you’ve been seeing is the flattering “nice ass” kind of look, or the plumber “ass crack” look.
“Oh, hey there,” I say as I turn around, trying to discreetly pull up my pants just inc ase. “I think I’m done.” As I turn to face you, I notice you’re looking pissed? Sad? Something?
“You ok?” I ask.
You let out a big sigh. “No. Yes. No. Yes. Whatever. My date just canceled on me. Now he’s ghosting.I hate these fucking apps.”
“Why would anyone cancel on you,” I ask.
“You’re sweet,” you say, with a kind smile, and even though we don’t really know each other, it’s like I’m seeing a part of you haven’t shown me yet – up to this point you’ve been bouncy, spry, sarcastic. It’s nice seeing this part of you. But the sarcastic Miya takes over real quick though.“And I know right,” you say, “Fuck em.”
“Fuck em,” I echo.
You breath in and out with another big sigh. Yes, I notice your breasts heaving up and then down as you exhale. Then you say, “Well. Fuck it. Kurt you wanna get high with me? Since I’m apparently staying at home tonight. Doing laundry, hopefully.”
I look back at the washing machine. It looks like I’ve done everything that needed my full attention. “Yeah, ok. You should be able to do laundry. And yes to getting high. Let me finish up,” I say.
“Great,” you say, turning into the hallway,” I’ll meet you on the balcony? I need to change.”
“Sounds good,” I say, though you look so good in that dress I wish you wouldn’t change.
***
When you join me out there on the balcony, I’m actually pretty happy you did change. You’re wearing tight cut-off jean shorts, and a white, low-cut v-neck t-shirt. And you’re braless. I can’t tell if you’ve dressed down for me, or out of frustration with the existential crisis of modern dating. It’s probably not about me. It’s nto about me. Anyway, either way, I’m the winner, not the douchebag who canceled on you, because you look fucking fantastic. As with the sundress, I can see your breasts, they’re hanging a little bit more down without a bra – I love that – and your aureolas are dark, big, clearly visible through the thin cotton. And your nipples are hard, big. You surely must know. My cock flexes instinctively. Breath Kurt, breath.
It’s starting to get dark out, the sounds of the city filtering up to the skinny balcony. As far as balconies go, ours is extra shitty, probably somebody’s excuse to add $200 to the rent for effectively 6 square feet of “balcony.” Whatever. It’s good enough..
“So Kurt, I have to warn you,” you say, as you hold up the joint. “This is some strong shit but it’s all I have on me.”
“That’s fine,” I say, thinking, indexing my plans for the evening while easing into the plastic chair in the corner of the balcony. My plans did involve doing some home repair work of my own – that closet door – but nothing I can’t ignore for one more night. Besides, the IPAs have kinda hit hard anyway. “I’m already a little tipsy,” I admit.
“Me too,” you say, your eyebrows arching up. “But, this stuff is for real. I got it from an ex, who is some hippy organic farmer guy. Super hot, really nice, terrible in bed, grows the best weed I’ve ever had. This, apparently,” you say, holding up the joint, “is what he called Horny Gelato. It sounds like a teenager named it, which is kinda true. He’s basically a teenager. I mean, not literally. Just in attitude and general practice,” you laugh, “Anyway it’s some kind of hybrid he grew last year and it doesn’t get very big, kind of like him actually, so there is never much of it. But he calls it ‘horny’ because, well, it does make you feel kinda horny. I don’t think that weed actually does that, but to be honest every time I’ve smoked it, I get horny, so it works?” you say, shrugging. “And it’s the only weed I have left.”
“Ok,” I shrug. I like horny. “Ladies first.”
You roll your eyes, “fine,” you say, and you give me the lighter to help you light it, then take a big drag, blow into the air. “Oh that’s nice,” you say, visibly relaxing, and you hand me the joint as you sit in the feeling. As I take my own puff, you hop up so that you’re sitting on the window sill and your feet are on the balcony railing.
Your legs look amazing, and your short jean shorts have creeped up to where I can just see a bit of your ass resting on the window sill. Your breasts, which look bigger without a bra, push slightly against the fabric, resting on your rib cage. It’s….quite a sight.
“This is good,” I say, breathing out, looking at the joint like it’ll tell me something about itself. “It tastes like wedding cake.” I say. “I’m not a big fan of the super stanky stuff. But this is actually kind of sweet, almost like a cigar.”
“You partake much?” you ask, as I hand back the joint.
“Not too often,” I say. Woah. My head is already starting to swim. The beers probably help (or don’t). Man this is some strong shit. It feels good.
We pass the joint back and forth, taking turns. We talk all kinds of stuff. Dating, of course, and how much it sucks, and how I haven’t really connected with anyone since I broke up with my girlfriend a few months ago, and you, about how you just haven’t found someone. The pandemic, and how it feels good to be in public again, to not have to wear a mask around neighbors, where we got vaccinated, Moderna vs Pfiezer, etc.
And: “I haven’t had a good fuck in months,” you say.
“Yeah. Me neither.”
Then: jobs, where we moved from, favorite movies, shitty tv shows we binged during lockdown. It’s nice, nice to catch up with a person, nice not to have to have to be wearing a mask with who is effectively still a stranger. And it’s nice to flirt too. Our talk is definitely playful. Part of it is that you’re way more relaxed than before. Maybe it’s the joint, the beers, or maybe you were just nervous about the date and now that it’s off you feel more comfortable with your messy, flannel-laden, amateur home repair neighbor guy, but we’re connecting well. It’s really nice. The sun has set, it’s getting dark, that magic twilight hour, and the weather is chilly, but balmy. It’s all really nice. You’re nice. This weed is nice. Everything is nice.
And yes, whether it’s me staring at your legs and ass and tits and hair from a few feet across the balcony, your ex’s weed strain, or both, sure enough I am horny as fuck. I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off your body, and my cock is hard as rock in my pants. I’ve had to do the whole 8th grade math class leg reorientation to hide my crotch. I wonder if you’ve notice in the dark. For my part, I want to simultaneously melt into the chair and fall asleep, and at the asme time jump you and fuck you hard right here on the balcony.
“So it works huh,” you say, joint between your fingers, hopping down off the ledge and leaning back against the balcony wall. Your full breasts bounce as you hop down.
“Works? The washing machine?” I ask, high, tipsy, confused.
“No, the Horny Gelato,” you say, nodding in my cock’s direction. You’re leaning up against the wall in the dark, a little bright light with the remainder of the joint in your hand. I’m a bit taken back by the directness. But I like it. Also. You look amazing.
“You ever shotgunned a joint before?” you ask.
“I…don’t think so?” My brain is trying to catch up to the conversation. How are you talking right now?
You smile mischievously, take a long final drag from the joint, put it out in a nearby ashtray, then walk over to me, andm, without breathing out, put your hands on the armrests of the chair, lean down to me – your breasts hang down in the shirt and I can’t look away – and you put your lips on mine and breath into my mouth. I can’t help but breath in the smoke. The kiss feels nice, but it’s surprising.
As you stand back up, I cough, hard, surprised.
“I’m sorry,” you say, stepping back and laughing a bit, covering your mouth. “I should’ve told you what I was going to do. It’s kinda funny though.”
“Is it?” I muster between coughs, trying to laugh to show you it’s no big deal. It was hot, to be honest. Finally my cough subsides enough to look up.
I want to ravish you in the dark.
There’s a silent moment that hangs between us, then you break it: “Instead of pulling surprises on each other, let’s just tell you tell me what you want and I tell you what I want. What do you say Kurt?” you say.
“Ok,” I say, still shaking off the cough. The word to describe how you look standing in front me in the shadows is “demure.” Like modest, but hot. Your nipples are like lighthouses in the dark, tenting the white t-shirt. It’s like they’re calling me. I am no longer pretending to not stare at them.
“Like this. I’m going to walk inside,” you explain, “You’re going to watch my ass as I walk away. I’m going to go walk down the hallway and I am going to inspect your work on the washing machine, Mr. Kurt,” you accentuate the mister, which sounds unusual at first but I like it. You keep going: “I’m going to be bent over, my ass in full view, my tits pushed down on the cold top of the washing machine,” at this you hold your tits in your hands as a kind of demonstration, and I’m having a hard time keeping up with how fast this is going. “And, Mr. Kurt,” you say, “I want you to fuck me. I want you to take me however you want. No condom.”
I need like 5 minutes to catch up. I don’t have it, so I just stupidly and stonedly say, “Ok. That sounds really great.”
“What do you want do to me?” You ask, in this high-pitched fake girly voice. We’re in a weird spot here but I love it.
“I uh,” I stumble, fumbling for time to formulate the thoughts from my foggy brain, so I just say what I want and let it all out at the same time, “I want to fuck you hard. I want to fuck you hard enough that you scream out begging for more.”
“Ok. That’s exactly what I wanted too,” you say. “I mean. You have to admit this has been basically a porno anyways. Hot neighbor in ruffled flannel shirt and messy jeans fixing hot girls’ washing machine. It writes itself. I mean, it’s so hot you’re already touching yourself.”
Wait, what? I’m a little shocked but I look down, yes, sure enough, I am absentmindedly running my hand over my cock. A large pre-cum wet spot has formed on my pants.
You must be able to tell I’m embarrassed; I can see you smiling in the dark. “It’s ok, see, I’m honry gelato too” you say, laughing at yourself a bit, and you start to tweak your nipples with your hands, right in front of me. This is basically like a porno.
“Ohhh,” you say, in an exaggerated voice. You knead your breasts, then tweak your nipples through your shirt. I am loving the way your breasts gather beneath the pressure of your hands. You move your hands slowly down your body, where they brush over your pussy for just a second
“Meet me inside, Mr. Kurt?” You ask in that high, porny voice, your teeth biting your lip.
“Uh, yes,” I say, as you turn through the balcony sliding doors and walk away.
“See you in a minute,” you say, as you pass through the curtains.
Before I get up, I sit there for a second and take index of everything. First, I am definitely high as fuck. Higher than I’ve been in a long time. Or maybe ever? And it’s a unique kind of high – like pure energy and pure relaxation. It’s a weird but welcome feeling. Second, I am also tipsy; that’s in there somewhere but lost to the fog of the weed. Third, I am horny as fuck. Maybe that’s just because I was told I’d be horny? There’s this gourmet ice cream place I love, where – at least pre-pandemic – you could sample to your hearts delight. So you’d ask for toasted marshmallow and the employee would say something like “this always reminds me of a crisp fall night where the campfire smoke rises up into the trees and you toast a marshmallow that melts in your mouth and that’s this taste,” so that when you taste the sample, you’re like “you’re right! That’s exactly what it tastes like!” So maybe that’s what’s happening now? You said it was horny weed and that’s what I’m feeling? Horny? Or maybe it’s because the lockdown sucked – I’m glad it saved lives – but for sex it sucked. So maybe I’ve been repressively horny for a year and I’m ready to fuck this first person without a mask that I can? It’s so complicated. It’s making my brain hurt overthinking it.
So I just let it go. Then I’m left thinking about what I want to do with you, and just making sure I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to happen. Basically I want to fuck your ass hard and slam into you against the washing machine. I cross-check that for a second to make sure there are no signals otherwise, and it’s making me harder and hornier to realize: what I want to do to you is exactly what you want done to you.
I take a breath in – still tasting that wedding cake taste down in my throat – and stand up and walk down the hallway.
***
As I walk down the hallway, it’s dark, but light is streaming from the laundry closet, accentuating your pale white legs and that jean-short-doned ass sticking out into the hallway. I feel the pre-cum wet spot on my jeans getting wetter, stickier.
You’re angled forward, over the washing machine. You’ve started a cycle on the washing machine and it’s currently filling up with water. I notice again that you’re short – I like that – because you’re on tippy toes. I’m behind you now. I can’t help it: I’m breathing really heavily, admiring your ass from behind. Your shorts inch upwards even more and I can see your ass cheeks peeking through. I tilt my head trying to cop a look. I see the cute cheeks or your butt sticking out just below the fabric of your dress.
I’m really, really hard, as in my cock is pushing up towards my belt, and there’s a big pre-cum spot forming on my pants.
“It looks good back here, but I think you need to finish your job Mr. Kurt,” you say. ““I am so high and honry right now Kurt,” you say, your voice pitching upwards, needily.
“Take off your shorts,” I order.
“Yes sir,” you say, complying, reaching your hands down to unzip your shorts. You wiggle them down a little bit, but you can’t get them all the way down without standing up, and apparently you want your ass bent to mel. You want to look ready for me. “I need help Sir,” you say.
“Say please,” I say.
“Please, sir,” you beg.
I step to you, you take an audible breath as I do, and I take both sides of your shorts and start to pull them down slowly. “Tell me what you want,” I order.
“Okay,” you say, your voice sounding very, very high, “I want you to take me. I want you to fill me up.This ass,” you wiggle in my face as I kneel to finish pulling your shorts off, “my ass belongs to you for the next few minutes. Use it however you like, I’m open to you.” You lift one leg and then the other, your underwear in the shorts, and it’s just your pale, big thighs, and your big white ass. You’re exposed, wanton. I wonder if you’re like wondering what part of you I’m looking at. I wonder if you like feeling this vulnerable, ready, open.
I like it all too. I’m breathing heavy. You must feel my hot breath on your ass. I’m admiring at the shape of your legs pushed together, rising into your big fat white ass. Your pussy is right there too, moist, glistening in the laundry room light. Your asshole is beautiful, spread out, moving a little with your breaths. I love how badly you want me, or want just to be fucked. How willing you are.
“Wow, Miya,” I heave. What is even happening.
I laugh a bit, it’s so overwhelming. I am so high right now.
You pick up the porn plot again. “You did a good job Mr. Kurt. But if I look closely, it’s still a little wet back here,” you say, and you put your whole upper weight on the washing machine, then put your hands on your ass checks and pull them apart, revealing even more of your wet pussy and pink tender asshole. “Can you do something about that Mr. Kurt? Can you finish me? I mean finish it?”
I can. I can also smell you.I love it. It’s musky, a little pungent, thick.
I play along with the plumbing porno vibe. “It looks like,” I say, moving my fingers to your wet pussy. You shudder a bit as my fingertips brush your swollen lips, “we need to just move some of this moisture around.” And with that I stick a couple of fingers up your pussy – you respond with a big heave of a breath and a shudder, and then your whole body is covered in goosebumps, and I start massaging your pussy juice upwards to your asshole.
“Yes, I like that,” you say. “Don’t stop. I think it’s working Mr. Kurt.”
I don’t stop. I keep massaging. You’re like a never-ending fountain of pussy juices though, getting wetter the more I play with your pussy. I’m feeling all tingly, like the pussy juice is tea-tree oil or toothpaste and the tingles are moving down my fingers into my body. My cock is instinctively flexing every few seconds, of its own mind, anticipating being inside you.
I keep massaging your pussy juice. You keep moving your ass back and forth. The weed has put me in place where I can keep doing this indefinitely; I’m drawn to the pattern and rhythm of it all. But there’s a part of me that’s thinking I need to step it up, so I slowly stand up.
“It feels ready, but I need to test it by shoving my cock in there, hard,” I say. I’m talking so ridiculously that I’m glad we’re both super stoned.
Standing up, I step forward, into you. You let some of your weight ease back into me, and you put your hands on top of the washing machine. You must feel my cock through my jeans, it’s hard and straight like a thick rope, and you wiggle your ass so my cock is nestled right up in there. My right hand goes to your shoulder, and you feel my left hand go to my crotch and then you hear me unzipping my pants. I step back a little to fully unzip and pull my cock out of my pants. When I step forward again, my cock fits right into the wedge of your ass crack. You feel your pussy lips push against my balls, and you wiggle a little bit backwards into me. My cock is super wet with precum, drenched with sticky viscosity, and my wetness coats your ass crack, dripping downwards and mixing in with your pussy juice. My precum is profuse, kind of slimy, but slimy in a dirty and naughty way. I can tell you love it. The washing machine rattles and you feel it nudge up against your increasingly sensitive nipples. You move your ass up and down against my cock. It’s even slicker now. My cock is moving up and down your ass like your crack is its own pussy, its so wet. It feels so good and so right. I instinctively grunt, pushing my crotch into you. You moan, surprised a little.
You feel me lean forward, see my hand grab the top of the washing machine controls, and then hear my voice in your ear, it must feel hot against your ear, “I’m going to take you Miya.”
“Ok,” you say. “Take me Kurt, fuck me hard. I’m yours to fucking take.”
I step back, and you feel the cold air against the slick crevice of your ass and your wet pussy. “I need your cock Kurt,” you moan, your face up against your arm as you lean forward. The position feels a little uncomfortable, square against the operating washing machine. You feel the rattle of the machine on your nipples and squirm a bit, trying to move your breasts against the metal. Then you breath in; you can feel my cock push against your pussy lips.
And then, again, maybe it’s the wanton lust in you, or the two beers, or the Horny Gelato from your ex, but you say “No, not not there. You’re the expert but you have it wrong. Your fingers go in that hole. I want your cock,” you reach for it from behind you, “up my asshole.” and you forcefully reach backward with your other hand and pull your ass apart. It’s an invitation.
“Fill me up Kurt. I need your big cock in my tight ass. Fuck me hard,” you tell me. “Fuck me like you promised. Do it good and hard Kurt. Do it,” you command.
And so I do. As directed, I stick two fingers slowly into your pussy. You moan, moving your ass backward to accommodate more of my fingers. There’s a squishy sound, your sticky pussy folds enveloping my fingers. Then with my other hand I aim my cock at your asshole. I let my cock head move up and down over your hole, prime it, get it wet with my slick precum.
“Say please,” I grunt. Not sure where that came from but it feels right. I like taking advantage of your horniness. The musk from your pussy is strong, like you’ve just put on your pussy juice as a perfume. I love it.
“Please Kurt,” you say. “Stop being slow. Just put your big hard cock in my tight ass and fuck me hard. I want it so bad.”
Ok. Message received. I stop messing around and I gently – I really don’t want to hurt you in a bad way, just really want to hurt you in a good way – I gently push my cock into your asshole, while moving my fingers in and out of your pussy. But it’s too slow for you.
“Don’t do that. Don’t be nice to me. Use my ass as a fuckhole. Take what you want. Just do it,” you say. I shove in. You gasp. It looks like it feels so good to filled up.
I feel good too. Your ass is tight. Sometimes I like pussy, well, all the time; the way it folds and wraps around my cock, the wetness and juice, but right now? I like your ass right now. It feels so fucking right, and tight, like your ass is hugging me as tight as it can. My precum is filling your hole and makes it easier for me to be faster. I want to make sure.
“Do you like this, Miya?” I ask.
“Yes,” you say. “Fill me up Kurt. Fill my ass with your cum. Stop talking and start fucking the fuck out of me. I really need this.”
I start going faster, my fingers in your pussy, and my cock in your ass. My other hand is on your shoulder, pulling you back. I’m almost at the same full speed I would be if I were fucking your pussy. You feel your asshole tight around my cock, and it hurts a little but the hurt is good. You push one hand against the wall, steadying yourself, and with the other hand you grab for your tit and start pulling and twisting your nipples.
It feels so good to fuck you, so right, I love hearing the slap of my body against your ass. I have an urge to spank your big fat pale ass, but I hold back – not sure whether the extra pain would be good or not. Maybe that’s for another fuck. For now I just keep fucking that big thick ass, my cock going in and out of your asshole, my hand wrapped around front of you with my fingers going in and out of your wet, wet pussy, like a machine.
“Oh I’m close Kurt,” you say. You’re pushing your whole body needfully against my cock and fingers.
For a second I get lost in it all, the weed and beer taking over, and I’m in this amazing heightened state of bliss, like the only thing that matters is the feeling I’m feeling. It’s so nice.
Then suddenly my cock pops out of your ass. My body takes a second to catch up and like a horny animal I’m just humping your ass.
“Shit,” I say.
“No no no,” you say, “put it back Kurt put it back. I need your cock in me. I really need this.” You’re laying all your weight on the washing machine, which is in spin cycle now. Your boobs are compressed against your body and the machine, jiggling on the sides with the washing machine spins. You urgently move your hands to your pussy, where you tweak your clit as my fingers go in and out.
I was close to cumming as well, and ready to get back at it. I finger your asshole a little before going in again. “Oh yeah,” you say, and then I stick my cock head near your hole and push in just a little. It’s wet, ready, pre-cum-filled. I give just a little thrust, and apparently that’s all you needed; you start moaning, and I feel your asshole convulse around my cock. I take advantage of the orgasm to push in fully. “Ohhhh,” you say, surprised, sending you on a micro-second-wave of orgasm. I feel your whole body shudder, a pulse in your pussy on my fingers, and your ass tightens as you cum. “Fuuuuuucckkkkk,” you say, slowly, drawn out, still desperately maneuvering your ass against me, like you’re trying to milk it all for what it’s worth.
As you’re coming down, resting a little, you’re paused for a second, and that’s when I feel my own cum coming to the top of my cock. I’m almost there, and though I don’t want to hurt you, I need to fuck you hard. I thrust hard into you, right up into your ass, my momentum and force tipping the washing machine just a bit. “Oh my god,” you exclaim.
“You want this don’t you?” I manage to grunt out.
“Oh Yes,” you affirm, loudly.
I push hard. You squeal a bit in pain, I’m guessing and hoping it’s good pain, and I feel my cock pulse and explode into your ass. It throbs as each stream pushes into your ass hole. I feel the warmth of my cum spread in your ass, and put my hand on the top of the washing machine, and grunt and breathe.
I’m sitting there for a second, breathing, enjoying the feel of my cock up your tight hole.
The washing machine is still spinning.
“Fuck, Kurt,” you say.
I pull out slowly, holding your ass with my hands, and step back, and lean against the hallway I’m still breathing heavy, slower though. My cum is starting to drip slowly from your asshole down your pussy crevice, down your thighs.
But you’re not done. You turn around, your breasts are huge, nipples still hard as rocks, and you hop up on the running washing machine. “I like being your dirty naughty ass cum deposit,” you say, the words only kind of making sense. You slowly spread your legs open and I see your pussy in full. It’s beautiful, just slightly and tastefully hairy. You reach down and start jiggling your clit again, working some of my cum into your own juices, occasionally lifting your ass up to pull fluid from your ass into your pussy. You move your hand to your mouth for a second and take a taste. You play with your pussy, reaching up once to tweak your nipple. Your eyes are closed. You’re biting your lip, moaning hard as you touch yourself.
It’s been about 45 minutes so we first starting shared the joint, and we smoked for a solid 10-15 minutes, so the high feeling is just starting to crest. I am *out of it* – which means I am totally into the moment. I feel very present, like the only thing that matters is watching you touch yourself. A weird thing, new to me, happens: my cock is soft, it really hasn’t been that long since I came inside your ass, but it’s starting to twitch and get hard again.
Apparently you opened your eyes. “For real?” you ask, looking at my hardening cock in amazement. “That’s really nice.”
I’m as amazed as you are. It usually takes at least 30 minutes if not more to do something again, but I am ready to go.
“Jack if off,” you order. “Cum on me. Pretend like I’m your private little whore show”
I like how we’ve moved from one porn scenario, the repairman, to another, the girlfriend putting on a show. I’m into it.
I reach down and start jacking off my cock; it’s a bit dry so I spit into a hand and use that. At the same time, you’re jilling yourself off, your juices starting to drip down the washing machine as it wraps up its cycle and shuts down. Your eyes are bloodshot – mine feel dry too – we’re high as fuck.
“Isn’t this fucking great” you ask?
“Yeah,” I manage.
I just let it all take over and happen. I’m an overthinker most of the time, and while I’m not a frequent partaker of cannabis, I love the way it slows my brain down. I can be more in the moment. And that’s exactly where I am: just a guy on a Saturday night with no (important) plans other than jack and jill off his fucking hot horny neighbor. The only sounds are the squishy sounds of your finger in your pussy and my precum starting to gel and bubble with friction. I’m fully hard again, thrusting my pevis into my own hand.
It feels like an hour – maybe it’s two minutes who knows – but then after just a little bit of clit and nipple play you cum again. Your body shakes a little, your butt jiggles, your tits look beautiful as they jostle, some of my cum falls out of you and drips with your juice onto the floor. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut. You moan.
It’s enough to set me off too.
“I’m cumming,” I announce.
“Oh fuck,” you say, “It’s so hot when guys announce their cum. Do it. Cum for me.”
“Ok,” I say, nodding frantically.
“Oh wait, cum onnnnnn me. Wait wait wait,” you say, “don’t touch yourself. Wait!” Your voice voice wavers a bit as you hop down off the washing machine and scramble over and kneel under my cock. You quickly take your shirt off, and you’re now completely naked. I obeyed, stopped, am breath heaving, and concentrating hard trying not to cum. My cock quivers instinctively, and a little bit of white semen in clear pre-cum oozes out of the tip of my cock. The way the droplet is sitting on the tip of my cock is hot, even to myself, and I have the weird feeling that I’d want to lick it, so imagine – hope – you do.
“Ok, wait,” you say, now that you’re directly under me, you do do what I hoped you do and lick that cum/pre-cum off my cock. “Ok,” you say, “go.”
I have quite the view: your eyes looking up at me, your hair cascading down onto your shoulders and shirt, you licking your lips like you’re about to devour me, then your tits hanging there with your erect nipples, and then your thighs squished together as you kneel, and above all that, my hard-again cock, waiting to spurt out. It’s something. I start jacking off again.
“You know I don’t really do this, like this,” you say, as I touch myself, and I’m not sure I’m not following, but that’s not surprising: I’m way high and too busy jacking off. “Like I don’t just get assfucked by guys that fix stuff in my apartment, and then kneel under them like I’m some kind of super slutty porn star. But I just feel reallllly slutty right now. And also,” you go on, the weed apparently causing a lot more conversation, which I don’t mind at all, “I haven’t had sex in fucking forever. This lock down sucked, and the sex I did have was terrible. This however,” you lick your lips, “is fucking hot as fuck. It’s like as hot as this one time….” you keep talking, describing a time you had sex in a dive bar bathroom during some show. You talking while I jack off is, for some reason that I don’t have the brainpower to identify, extremely hot to me, it’s extremely attractive in an even non-physical way, and for some reason just the sound of your voice as you kneel there, waiting for my cum, is making me more frantic to cum. I want to see me cum on you.
As I beat off hard, grunting, moaning, and you kneel waiting,I feel the cum rising in my balls. Like, I feel it feel it. I’m actually kind of amazed, like I’m watching myself outside of my body, amazed that I’m about to come this quickly again. I’m not really having an out-of-body experience, but my body does feel like it’s on automatic, like all someone had to do is put this fucking hot woman in front of me, and I’m ready to go as many times as she wants, as many times as I want, and my brain is just watching it all take place.
As I feel the cum rushing to the tip of my cock, I’m suddenly inspired “Suck it,” I order, and I move my cock towards your mouth. Your eyes get really big, and as I stick my cock inside your mouth, I hear a muffled “yes” and a moan, and I cum inside your mouth as I put my hands in your hair and push your head forward. I’m reminded of the shotgun kiss we had.
“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” I say – yelling, actually – out loud.
You’re licking my cock as it convulses. It then starts softening very quickly. Normally, after I cum, my penis gets extremely sensitive, and I don’t like it being touched, but in this moment, I’m loving the way you are using your tongue to move my cock around your mouth as it softens. My cock pulses once more, and I feel another bit of cum issue into your mouth.
“Holy shit,” I say, leaning back to the wall as you keep massaging my dick with your mouth, running your tongue up and down my frenulum.
Finally, you pull your mouth back, and my cock pops up, quickly flaccid. You smile, swallow as you stand up, cringe a bit with the taste (“I’ve never done that before,” you mumble), and stand there looking at me as I get my breath back.
“That was hot,” you say.
“It was,” I agree.
Then there’s this moment from when I say that to what you say what you say next, and it’s a weird, long, stoned moment.I think, “hey I could Miya’s boyfriend, as long as she wants me, and we could get along really well, clearly, and have a ton of fucking incredible sex,” and there’s this flash where I think about it all as an actual possibility. Like, it could really happen. This little fantasy or prophecy or vision or random stoned-head dream disappears when you talk again and I’m back on earth. But the vision is there somewhere in the back of my head, filed away.
“You know. I think I could probably dig up enough weed for another joint if you want. We could smoke, order some pizza, watch some dumb netflix. And then you fuck my brains out in bed.”
“Ok,” I smile.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pbvz7y/washing_machine_repair_neighbors_mf_weed_cannabis