The wood-rot ridden floorboards groaned under the weight of distant footsteps, rousing me to consciousness. My temples swam, and I could feel that my cock was achingly hard; tenting under the duvet, needy for attention. *The fuck.* Steadily rhythmic thuds from outside roused me out of a rather enticing dream of me doing some ‘extra credit’ for my hunky chemistry professor after class; credit which, of course, mainly involved marveling at his dark, Italian features while I peeled his oh-so-tight chinos down over the delicious mounds of his massive, hairy ass.
I stirred under the covers, attempting to pry my eyes open just far enough to be able to glance at the digital clock on my nightstand–6:15AM. *The double fuck? Why is someone making a shitton of noise at THIS hour?* I racked my brain, trying to remember if we had any vacancies on my floor lately. I vaguely remembered running into the building manager, Greg, on my way to campus earlier–and after the usual bought of small talk, he DID mention that the single mom who lived in the adjacent apartment was planning to move soon (which frankly was music to my ears, as her twins screeched at all hours of the day and made me loose hundreds of hours of sleep over the year-or-so I had lived there).
But that wasn’t supposed to be for another month, and the voices outside sounded distinctly male and bro-ier; likely other collage students by the way they were belting like a bunch of dickwads. *And why at the crack of dawn? On a SUNDAY.* I grimaced, my joints screaming at me as I sat up on the bedspread.
Like many penny-pinching students, my weekly routine consisted of scheduled labs and lectures from 8AM-2PM followed by 9PM-2AM shifts at one of the nearby pubs as a bartender. So by the time the weekend crept around, my sleep schedule was in shambles–but luckily I could usually count on Sunday to be my recovery day. *Or so I thought.*
Between the racket, my irritation and my throbbing erection, I deducted that going back to sleep was likely futile. Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed to leave the warm tangle of my bedsheets behind as I meandered through the dark. I could feel my dick bouncing as I walked, a veritable dousing rod slapping between my thighs as I made my way to the bathroom. Creeping over the tiled floor, I flipped on the finicky light switch by the doorframe; momentarily blinded by the crappy tungsten bulbs as I wobbled to the sink to freshen up for the day.
Even as disheveled as I felt–bedhead hair, crust gluing my eyes shut, mouth foaming with toothpaste–I couldn’t deny that my progress at the gym over the past few month was finally paying off as I checked myself out in the mirror. I was slowly achieving the V-shape I always wanted as a skinny ginger teenager; rounded shoulders, narrow waist, with my chest finally forming an impressive shelf of peach-fuzz muscle over my previously flat breastbone. Add a bit of telltale copper scruff to my jawline from a lazy shaving routine and a decently-handsome face, and I could say I looked sufficiently fuckable this morning. My free hand idly stroked my low hanging rod, still half-hard, wondering if I should bust a nut before I slipped into my clothes.
^(“)\*^(D’accord)\*^(, I have it.) Are you ready on your end?”
^(“Yeah, sure buddy, just swing it my way–“)
I twisted the faucet off, straining my ears to listen. They were distant, the voices, but thanks to the building’s paper-thin walls I could make the two guys out fairly clearly even from a few rooms over. One sounded dull and thick, like he was recovering from a cold–but the other had a lower, more sultry voice, and was that a lisp? Or an accent?
^(“–in my direction, just prop it up.) *NO, PIVOT.* *^(Just.)* \*^(Pivot)\*^(–“) One hissed, followed by a series of thumps.
“HEY. *^(Heyheyhey, just drop it for a second.)* I’m loosing my grip.” The other answered, exasperated.
*Sounds like one helluva sectional.* I smirked, remembering when I had to wrestle my own bedframe through the narrow thresholds of the apartment when I had moved in. The building was an ol’ historic property from the Victorian days, which meant leaky faucets, drafty windows and tiny period doorframes. But hey, at least it had character.
^(“Here, let’s give it another go. If we force it, it’s gotta give.”)
^(“That’s what I’ve been saying from the very start. Now,) PUSH.*”*
*French. He is definitely French.* My dick twitched involuntarily in response. I always had a soft spot for foreign men ever since I started the annual tradition of going on reoccurring spring-break trips with friends across Europe. I was spoiled with the veritable buffet of lithe, sporty German blokes and hung, brick-house Scotsman that frequented the hostels we shared. Those places were practically locker rooms; even now, I could still vividly recall the musky tang of strange men lingering in the air of those strange places when we fell asleep every night. And that was before I was getting away with huffing the undies of any given stud to savor the aroma of his sweaty nuts under the cover of darkness.
I bit my lip, my fingers squeezing my pulsing cock, making the veins pop around the thick tip of my shaft. *Maybe I’m getting a sexy lil’ boy-next-door moving into the next unit over.* The thought excited me, as much as I knew not much would likely come out of it. I was residing in a smaller east-coast city, and although the local universities flew in new dick-sucking blood every new semester, queers were still few-and-far between, let alone hot ones. But part of me still hoped that I would have a neighbor someday that liked fooling around on the DL. Or even better–*a roommate.*
The notion officially piqued my curiosity. Slipping by my haphazard bedspread again, I picked out a pair of sweats and a tank from my neglected laundry hamper and made a beeline to the entrance of my apartment; softly undoing the latch before sticking my nose through the crack of the door. Leaning forward, I peered into the hallway.
Huddled around the next-door-down were two figures, as I had surmised. Men, probably late-twenties or early thirties, hovering around a half-dozen boxes that were stacked just outside of the presumably vacant residence. One was taller, lankier, dressed in loose flannel with a slouched posture. American to boot, from the sounds of his whinging. And the other…
*Geezus.* He was an Adonis. At least, in my eyes. Not necessarily the type of guy to turn heads in the street, but undeniably a beautiful man; thick pouty lips, with dark, pointed eyebrows. A cut jawline with the hints of a 5 o’clock shadow brimming under his clean shaven skin, matching the tight fade that hugged his scalp. *And the body.* Although I estimated he was only standing at around 5’8 at most, he looked surprisingly stocky in his band-tee and jeans; all rounded shoulders, bulging triceps and hefty tree-trunk thighs. The definition of a thick short king.
But as I drank the stud in, his most striking feature was easily his ink; he had a full black n’ grey tattoo sleeve that coiled up one of his arms to pair with a few sporadic pieces that dotted that alabaster skin of his. It was well done work too, from what I could see–a veritable mosaic of daggers, vials, skulls and florals. Roses bloomed on the tops of his hands. A death’s head moth was splayed squarely on his throat. I idly thought he could have been on the covers of one of those punk-rock magazines, between the scores of ink and the gorgeous, masculine scowl that was painted across his face.
“Is that all the furniture at least? Or should I be expecting more hernias from squeezing all your hardwood shit through that damn door…” The lanky one spat, exasperated.
“No, we have the shoe-shelves still in the pick-up, but they’re all quite light by comparison.” The other one husked, crossing his arms. The Frenchman paused. Unlike his friend, he actually spotted me in his peripheral vision; his glassy-eyes flitting towards me hovering at the ajar door. I plucked up enough courage to hold his gaze, drinking the hunk in. The gesture caught him off guard, getting him noticeably flustered as he turned back to his friend, pretending he didn’t see me.
“Let’s bring these in and take a break.” The stud suddenly murmured to his friend, instinctively grabbing one of the stacked cardboard boxes. “We don’t have to tackle all this at once.”
His American friend murmured in ascent, following suit and ushering two of the same boxes inside and subsequently disappearing from view. The Frenchman lingered, however, his frame silhouetted in the light wafting down the hallway as he turned to look back at me in all his voluptuously glory. Hair tousled. His biceps coiled under the weight of the boxes. His ass a veritable shelf of muscle resting under the small of his back. I raised my eyebrows at him knowingly, trying to appear friendly.
However, my not-so-friendly neighbor merely scowled at me–feigning disgust as he also made a beeline inside without another word. I fumed in the doorway of my apartment, slightly miffed.
*Whatever. You sexy fucking bastard.*
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*17-18-19-20!*
I grit my teeth together, hissing. Clenching my ass cheeks and lifting with all my might, I fought to urge to keel over as I rose from my kneeling position at the edge of my bedspread–finally reaching the end of my grueling set of Bulgarian split squats. I chucked my dumbbells unto my mattress haphazardly, my lungs searing. Although I normally I hated squandering my overly-expensive gym membership to do my half-assed weight work from home, I had a busy schedule between my classes and work, so it was nice to sometimes have the option to do a quick gym session from the comfort of my apartment when I was short on time or when the weather was crappy. *Although today, it is definitely due to the latter.*
I nudged my weights to the side, providing enough room for me to crash unto my bedspread; the tangle of cotton sheets feeling nice and cool on my slick, feverish skin. I peered through the darkness, my gaze falling on the opposing window as I blinked away the sweat that was stinging my eyes. Instead of the usual sight of the dark, abandoned sidewalk outside, my window resembled something closer to an impressionist painting; the torrents of rain outside obscuring my view through the glass into ribbons of indecipherable greys and blues. The storm had been rumbling for hours up to this point with no signs of letting up; the notion making me oddly thankful that I didn’t have the same crappy basement apartment I had this time last year. *Otherwise I probably would be bailing water out of my stairwell with a bucket by now.* I thought sarcastically, giving a mental middle finger to my crummy former landlord.
I sat up, resting my head against the oak headboard of my bed. Hiking up the hem of my gym shorts, I began kneading the granite-hard muscle of my thigh; my fingers digging into the coils of meat underneath my skin as I worked to release the built-up tension from my workout, the delicious ache rippling through my legs making me wince in a coaxing mixture of pleasure and pain. As my thumbs dipped lower to address my screaming hamstrings, I tensed, a sharper pain shooting up my leg. *Damn, maybe I did go a bit too hard tonight.* I was practically mewing like a kitten with the way my calf was quivering, on the verge of cramping.
*Wait.* I paused, straining my ears. Due to the dull roar of the rain outside, it almost didn’t even register that the quiet cooing I could hear wasn’t coming from my own lips. I glanced around my bedroom for a moment, wondering briefly if I had left a PornHub video playing idly on my phone again–but alas, it was still idle on my bedside table. It took a few seconds of conscious listening, but I eventually settled on the source of the sound–beside me. Or more precisely, through the wall of the neighboring apartment.
*No way. What is the new boy-next-door up to at this hour?* I craned my neck to the side, leaning over to dispel the black light from my phone to check the time–12:34AM. *Seems I’m not the only night owl on this floor.* Rife with curiosity, I shuffled closer to the peeling wallpaper at my bedside, trying to tune out the rain as I listened to my neighbor’s nocturnal activities.
Shuffling. Lots of it. Judging by the consistency of the sound, my best guess is that he had a sofa or his bed pressed up against the wall. *Fuck yes.* Although I surmised the building’s insulation settled *a lot* over the years, the walls weren’t quite so thin that I could hear him breathing, but I could definitely make out smaller sounds that normally would be completely absent from neighboring units. I was genuinely surprised how clearly I could hear his movements; first turning unto his side, then either his head or his feet brushing up against the drywall.
And then, moaning. Low and droning. My dick twitched in response, inflating in record time against the nylon on my quickly-tightening shorts as realization dawned on me. *That sexy fucker is rubbing one out!*
It was like striking proverbial gold. I felt paralyzed due to the wave of excitement that was washing over me, my heart leaping in my chest as I eagerly pressed my cheek up against the wall like the self-proclaimed pervert I was, listening more carefully.
^(Unnnghh–uhhnn–fuuuck.)
His moans sounded too cute. Whiney and needy, with just a hint of his accent peaking at his sighs and whimpers. I bit my lip, trying to use my imagination to visualize what he looked like right about now. I pictured him splayed across the bed in the dark, a nice, gorgeous dick in hand with his undies wrapped around his ankles. Or maybe humping one of his pillows, showing off the swell of his ass peaking out from under the bedsheets as he laid there nude and voluptuous.
*No, he would be wearing something slutty.* Like a jock or some sort of compression shorts–semi-hard dick and full, droopy nutsack tugged over the waistband. Thick, hairy thighs spread. One of his arms pinned behind his head to showcase the swell of one of his meaty biceps and sweaty pits as his free hand idly stroked is rod. His lips parting as he got off on the visual of fucking his own fist. *Yeah, that’s more like it.*
I slowly coaxed my now aching rod down-and-out of the pant-leg of my shorts, my own dick now fully engorged and dripping as I wrapped my own fingers around my veined pole as I too began to stroke. I was oozing pre-cum like a faucet, getting off on the notion of being only a few feet from that thick lil’ stud muffin as he played with his cock and balls. Periodically squeezing my nuts in between strokes, my breathing becoming more heavy and labored. *Damn I wish I had the chance to get my lips on every sinful inch of that lil’ hottie.*
Then, I had a thought. *You fucking idiot.* I twisted my torso, my right hand never leaving my dick as my left reached over the bedspread to grab my phone again.
Surely like any other red-blooded horndog, if this guy was partial to sucking dick, I could probably scout him out on one of a handful of hookup apps–Scruff, Hornet, Grindr, etc. It wouldn’t be the first time I weeded out curious guys that were dwelling in the building. *Although maybe the first one I’ve had this hot nearby, let alone this close.* Luckily being the insatiable fucker I was, I had all kinds of these apps downloaded and sitting idly on my home screen for those late nights where I needed to dump a load in a willing hole. I tapped Grindr first, as when it came to hookup apps, that was the one all the younger guys seemed to frequent.
I squeezed my aching rod to quell my need to cum as I listed to a few more quiet moans emanate from the walls. The usual cesspool-turned-meat-market of an app was what you would expect with hundreds of nearby profiles; so I turned off my preferred filters (bottom, verse-bottom, side, hookups and cruising were always my go-to’s) to cast a wider net. Lots of faceless profiles with little information, besides a few repeating Scruff frequenters and some less-than-enticing torsos. My brow furrowed. *Surely he has got to be on here.* I started opening the profiles individually, looking for any clues.
The first profile only showed an age (21) and their expectations (chats and dates), which didn’t sound like any promising. The Frenchman did have a youthful vigor to him, but he didn’t look like a kid–I would have pegged him to be at least 28 or 29, if not older. The next profile however, caught my eye. ‘Blow n’ go’, 29, verse-bottom. 25 meters away. Toned, white, single, here for chats and hookups. ‘en/fr, into dicks, less so if you are one. come use my throat?’
*Bingo.* I bit my lip, apprehensive for a moment as my thumbs stroked across my keyboard. There was no photo, but between the bilingual features and his sheer proximity, this HAD to be him, right? I debated whether I should do the chivalrous thing and feign interest in his personality to get in his pants, or just jump gun-ho into sending my best dick-pic? I snorted quietly to myself. I decided to settle on the ol’ faithful of hitting up a slut on this app.
***^(<Evening stranger, ‘sup?>)***
I waited with baited breath. Nothing but silence behind the opposing wall so far. I exhaled, spreading my thighs and watching the veins pop along the slab of my engorged meat, my chest slowly rising and falling as my mind swam with thoughts of getting my dick slipped between that Frenchman’s sexy, pouty, cocksucking lips. *Gods what I would do for a willing throat right about now.*
Then, a distinct ping rang from my phone. My eyes widened, eager as ever.
***^(<nothing much, just bored in bed)***
***^(are those your pics?>)***
I smirked. *He thinks I’m too hot to be real.* I replied back to him.
***^(<Haha, yep, all mine. What’re you doing up at this ungodly hour?>)***
***^(<couldn’t sleep. strange beds do that to me. just moved to my new place today>)***
*Bingo.*
***^(<Nice. Make any new friends in your building yet?>)***
***^(<not yet.)***
***^(although there are some pretty sexy guys here>)***
I bit my lip, trying to play coy as I probed him further.
***^(<If you find out who they are, you should let me know, lol. Nothing but faceless profiles here sadly. No offence, of course.>)***
***^(<none taken. just a professional myself, don’t want people at work knowing about my sex life>)***
***^(<Fair. Not too keen with my boss knowing I’m on the hunt for grade-A ass to fuck on weekends myself.)***
***^(Speaking of which, got any pics?>)***
*Ding!* A photo of his studly side-profile popped up; back arched, biceps coiled, dimpled ass up-and-out as he snapped a selfie of his reflection in an opposing full-length mirror. Tatted, fit, the right race and skin tone–but no face included. *Frick.*
***^(<Daaaamn. What an ass. Looks nice and fuckable. Any other pics?>)***
***^(<it is sir. show me what you would be fucking it with>)***
*Fine.* I wasn’t getting anywhere unless I showed off the merchandise.
I quickly browsed my gallery for the juiciest dick pic I could find, eventually settling for a lil’ photoset that included a POV shot of my full-mast rod taken right beneath my taint; my swollen, shaved nuts and freshly-pumped pecs taking up half of the frame, while my fat knob engulfed the other. *That should do it.*
***^(<oh fuck. your dick is huge)***
***^(gods I need that cock rn>)***
A moan emanated from behind the wall again, followed by a few dull thuds. I smirked, wrapping my hand more firmly around my dick to start a steady stroking rhythm.
***^(<Oh yeah? Judging by the username, I take it you like deepthroating fat cocks like mine?>)***
***^(<fuck yes i love sucking cock>)***
***^(<Like strangers coming in and using you? Dumping nice fat loads down your throat?)***
***^(<yesss. love sucking all that hot cum out of their cocks)***
***^(leave my door unlocked and the lights off. let them use my throat for their pleasure)***
***^(but they gotta be big. I’m obsessed with nice big dicks>)***
***^(<Fuuuuck. Then I’d bet you’d be such a good slut for my massive rod then.>)***
***^(<i would be sir. I could choke on a huge piece of stud dick all night>)***
*Damn, someone is bonafide size queen.* I felt like a kid at Christmas getting this dude riled up. I worked my foreskin up and down my now engorged, purple, mushroom head. Pleasure shooting up through the root of my pelvis as I pictured how angelic my neighbor would look with my big dick between his cherry lips.
***^(<I’d love to see suck it slow and deep. On your knees.)***
***^(Really take your time worshiping my ‘stud dick’, lol>)***
***^(<haha. srry. I just get so horny at the thought of another man using my throat.)***
***^(and i like sitting on them even more)***
***^(wish you were filling my holes instead of my toy, sir>)***
*Toy?* My dick burped a fresh volley of pre-cum at the notion, and suddenly the rhythmic thuds from the other side of the wall made a helluva lot more sense. *Holy fuck.*
***^(<You bet. You sitting on a big toy right now?>)***
***^(<yes. suctioned it to my headboard)***
***^(sliding my hole on it rn>)***
*Oh, this is TOO fucking good.*
***^(<Fuck that’s hot. Keep going then. Back that fat ass up on it me. Balls deep.>)***
*^(“Ughhh–yes, daddy.”)*
Unmistakable, even given how quiet he whispered it to himself. I almost forgot that the slut I was sexting was only a foot-or-so of drywall away as the Frenchman’s coo emanated through the wall, low and deep as a dull thud quickly followed. Presumably him pressing his ass flush with the headboard of his bed.
I feverishly jerked my dick in response, conjuring up images of my hands wrapping around that tiny waist of his instead as I watched his pretty pink asslips enveloping my rod. Him throwing his head back as I bottomed out in his rectum. The slick sounds of his hot hole swallowing my cock filling the room as his chute milked my cast-iron cock.
*Ugh. I need to see more of this guy, just to be sure.*
***^(<Show me that hole.>)***
Ding! Another morsel, this time of my cute lil’ alt. boy straddling a rickety wooden chair in his kitchen, clad in a white tank top and a sporting a red-silk thong this time. A hairy forearm reached back to grasp at the material bisecting his backside, with his g-string tucked to the side instead flossing his fuzzy ass cheeks to show off a waxed-clean hole.
*But no face. Was this guy THAT closeted?*
***^(<Geeezus. Daddy like. Fuck I need that ass.>)***
***^(<You have me hard as a rock rn.>)***
***^(<oh fuck. wish I was sucking your dick)***
***^(getting that pole soaked in spit. perfectly wet for my hole>)***
***^(<SO fucking wet, I bet. I’d slam that slut hole so full of cock, you’d be seeing stars.>)***
***^(<please. I need you destroying my boy pussy>)***
I raised my eyebrows. *Boy pussy, huh?* I could work with this.
<Oh yeah? You need a hung stud like me to knock up that boy pussy?>
The previously rhythmic thumping unmistakably picked up in tempo, hammering against the drywall of my bedroom. Loud enough now to wake the neighbors, if they could be so lucky.
*^(“Ouuu.)* ***^(Thump.)*** *^(Aggh.)* ***^(Thump.)*** *^(Fuck me.)* ***^(Thump.)*** *^(Fuck me.)* *^(Ouuu fuuuuck…”)*
My breathing was also becoming labored and heavy listening to this erotic litany. My orgasm was edging dangerous close at the base of my dick as my balls churned with cum, threatening to unleash a torrent of semen at any second. I squeezed the shaft between my fingertips, my cock aching painfully as I quelled the temptation to bust all over my chest right then and there.
*Save it for buddy-boy. He’s likely horny enough to invite me over to dump a load in him at this rate. My cute, horny bastard.*
***^(<please sir. own my pussy. need you getting me pregnant.)***
***^(<Oh I will. You still fucking that hole on that plastic cock?>)***
***^(<yes sir. it’s so fucking deep in my hole>)***
***^(<Mmmm. I bet you’re taking it so well. Slamming that silky-smooth pussy on the toy.”)***
^(“)*^(Fuck me daddy.)* ***^(Thump.)*** *^(Fuck me hard.)* ***^(Thump.)*** ***^(Thump. Thump.)*** *^(Ouuu fuuuuck…”)*
***^(<i am sir. i wanna get fucked until it’s sore, sir>)***
***^(<Fuck yes. Wanna replace it with with a real dick?>)***
And without further adieu, the chat closed. My conversation with my inked stud evaporating, like powdered ash in the wind as I found myself facing the embarrassingly long list of Grindr chats I’ve been building up for nigh-on a year. *Wait, what?*
At first I thought with a rigid horror that my thumb had slipped to hit the block button in my horny fervor; especially with the sheer amount of nut-sweat that was glistening on my palms. But upon further inspection of the home screen, I couldn’t seem to find the faceless profile that belong to neighborhood hottie. No way. Did he just block me? I couldn’t seem to come to any other conclusion as I starred in disbelief at my screen, my quickly-turning-blue balls tight and brimming with dick juice as my brain turned over the possibility in my noggin.
“Dude, what is your DEAL.” I said to no-one in particular, my pulse racing in my ears.
I growled deep in my throat, sheer annoyance making the hairs at the back of my neck bristle as my previously erect slab of cock turned into a semi-hard, floppy state in my fist. My wrist idly slapping it between my thighs with sheer irritation before I eventually tucked it back up the pantleg of my shorts, defeated. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of life beyond the wall to the neighboring apartment again; I could pick up small sounds, labored breathing and the barest hint of whimpering, but nothing more.
I let my head fall against my plush pillow, contemplative. I was at a loss at what this guy had against me. Something about the exchanges we had felt almost–personal? I thought back to our interactions, both in person and online. Did he put together that I was the leering guy he saw in the hallway, and didn’t wanna be known as the neighborhood faggot with the buildings tenants? Did he accidentally block me via a simple input of incompetency on his phone? Or did he just see me as another rando-top he liked to do a bit of dirty talk with, before eventually wiping clean the evidence when the post-nut clarity hit?
I couldn’t be certain either way. But if anything, the befuddlement I felt now just made me want that dumb bitch bottom even MORE. I didn’t know how I was going to do it, or even if it would be worth the trouble, but between a blocked profile and a not-so-keen first introduction from earlier today, but I was going to figure out a way to get this Frenchman warming up to the idea of bumping uglies with me.
*One way or another, I am going to make that guy desperate to take my loads. Period.*