tagLesbian SexLesbian Next Door

Lesbian Next Door

byHornyman69WithU©

I lived in a building on the 2nd floor in an apartment next door to a lesbian couple. For the life of me, I cannot remember their names, as they were just ordinary, common names.

Though we'd never been in each other's apartments, we got acquainted by virtue of our 2nd-story back porches being only a few feet apart. No offense to lesbian ladies, but these two were your stereotypical lesbian duo, the rather stern, very short-haired, somewhat masculine and aggressive blonde and the passive, longer-haired, pretty and feminine brunette.

They worked at the same place, but on different shifts, so I didn't see them together very often, but I did hear them together once in a while.

You see, we shared a wall between the apartments, and I once heard them going at it, but just barely because it was an historic building back when they made walls thick. My trusty stethoscope helped overcome that little inconvenience.

Due to the juxtaposition of the two apartments, however, the only two rooms that shared the common wall were part of the halls and the bathrooms, so the only time I could overhear anything was when they were walking down the hall or in the shower together. When I'd hear the water start running, I'd run to my bathroom, grab the stethoscope from the medicine cabinet, and stick it in my ears.

I'd place the business end of it up high above the tile in my shower, but it was still hard to hear, as their shower was usually on, making a terrible racket and almost drowning out everything. On infrequent occasions, though, they'd turn off the water as it began to run cold, which allowed me to hear almost as well as being in the shower with them. For once, a small water heater was a good thing!

Dyke to Pretty Thing, "Yeah, you like to suck my big cock, don't you? You suck it nice now, you hear, and maybe I'll fuck your pussy with it." And so on. Apparently, dyke had a strap-on that pretty thing was sucking. Hmmmm. I put that in my mental filing cabinet under Sex/Lesbians/Neighbors/Follow-Up.

On a Summer Saturday afternoon a few months later I was walking back from playing some street ball when I saw Pretty Thing with a frustrated expression standing on the front porch with some antique furniture--a chest and a dresser--big, heavy pieces.

"Hey, nice stuff," I commented. "Thanks. Got it at an estate sale. The guy trucked it over here before I got home from work, but just left it on the porch. Now I got to get it up the stairs. Roomie's working a double and won't be home until tomorrow morning. You think you could give me a hand?"

I went up the porch steps and lifted one end of the dresser. Sombitch must have weighed a ton, even with the drawers out that she had already carried upstairs. "Sure, I'll help, but we need another pretty strong dude," I suggested, looking up the narrow, 22-step staircase. "Oh, I'm gonna do my part," she said, "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Well, she didn't look that strong, but she did look good, real good. About 30 and of Italian descent, she had thick, nearly black, shoulder-length hair surrounding a face featuring a high forehead; thick, arched brows over big, dark, wide open eyes. Large, brilliant teeth flashed from her extremely wide, full-lipped mouth. Her face radiated happiness.

In the white tee shirt and gym shorts she was wearing, her body looked tasty, too. Compact at about 5'4" and around 120 pounds, she was thin but had curves. Her skin was olive brown, with ever-so-smooth arms and legs. Firm, braless B cups pressed dark nipples against the cotton tee, and the wide-legged gym shorts displayed the bottoms of her dark, poochy buns and positively invited one to seek an angle for viewing possibly more.

She showed me the bedroom in their apartment where the furniture would be going and gave me a quick tour. The place was tastefully furnished and decorated. The mirror image of mine, it was a two-bedroom, but they'd made one bedroom into a den. I had to use the bathroom, and, of course, while in there I checked the shower for sex toys. None. Then I checked the cabinet under the sink. Aha—the strap-on dildo with a leather harness. Crusty and dry as a bone, it had apparently not been used recently, but it did have the faint odor of pussy. This must have been the tool that I'd heard her roomie using on her. If she liked a lifeless rubber cock, wonder if she'd like a hot throbbing hard real one? Mine, for example.

Knowing she and I would never be able to lift those two pieces of furniture up the tall, steep staircase, I gathered the throw rugs from around her place, put them on the bare-wood steps, turned the pieces upside down, and slid them up.

Even using this method, I pushing from below and she pulling from above, it was all we could do to get them up the stairs, and we had to turn them up on end to make the sharp bend through the doorway into the bedroom. She was, in fact, stronger than she looked and very coordinated, but even so, I did 80% of the work. No problem—looking at the eye candy that she was made it worth the effort.

It was a blistering hot and humid August day, and we were soaked in sweat, which just made her boobs and puffy dark nipples that much more visible. When struggling with the dresser on the staircase, with each step that she'd pull upward as I pushed from below, I had a perfect view of her crotch up the wide-legged gym shorts. Though she did have on some light-colored panties, they were damp from perspiration also, and did not completely cover her very thick black bush, so I could just barely make out her pussy lips. All this helped motivate me up the steep incline.

We finished up and plopped down at the kitchen table under the A/C vent. "I gotta case of cold Bud. Wanna see how much of dent we can make in it?" she offered. So, in no time we'd each downed four or five cold ones, making quite engaging conversation about sports, politics, whatever. Beer can be sipped, drunk, or gulped, and we were definitely gulping. There was something about the way she'd slurp those longnecks with her full, luscious lips, combined with the way she'd say, "Let's suck down another one," that was really turning me on.

I opened my mental cabinet and retrieved the aforementioned file. OK, so she liked sucking and being fucked with a fake dick. Wonder if she'd like a live one—my live one? Then I thought, get with the program, Hornyman, this chick is a lesbian who lives with her lover. Then I thought again--nothing ventured, nothing gained. But how would I go about it?

With a six-pack in each of us and punting all good judgement, I decided to just tell the truth and be direct.

"You know our bathrooms abut one another, and I overheard you and your roommate having sex in the shower. The last thing I want is to cause a problem between you and her and me, and it doesn't matter to me what your primary sexual orientation is, but I find you extremely sexually attractive..."

She interrupted, "You must be a mind-reader, 'cause I feel the same way about you, but I'm pretty much a lesbian, and (forgot her name) is a complete lesbian, extremely possessive of me, and would kill both of us if she found out. Can you keep a secret to your grave?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I promised. And without another word, she shucked what little clothes she had on, stood me up, removed mine, sat me back down in the kitchen chair, and straddled me. Interesting, I thought--she's taking total charge, something she doesn't get to do with dyke girl.

She was one of the best kissers ever, exploring my mouth and ears and eyelids and neck with her agile lips and tongue. She paid more attention to my nipples than any other girl ever--guess that shouldn't have been a surprise. Naturally, I was hard immediately, and in no time she was riding me up and down, slowly at first, then with increasing pace as I squeezed and sucked her dark nipples, now puffier than ever, nearly the size of plums.

Eventually, she went down on me with the gusto of a thirsty child on a popsickle, but careful to not let me cum. Maybe they were rubber or maybe they were real, but this girl had sucked dicks before! Using her expert tongue, she licked and sucked my balls and asshole like a pro, then mounted me again, squeezing my shaft hard at the base to guide me in.

Every time I'd try to move into a different position, she'd just steady me in the sitting position on the chair, and I never got a chance to eat her pussy. That was a let-down, not only because I really wanted to see it and feel it up real close, but also because oral is what I do best. This girl just wanted my dick!

Her whole bottom was soaking wet, and the second I touched her booty hole, she plunged it onto my finger on the very next downstroke of the fuck. As soon as I wiggled another finger in there, she came with a wild, bucking series of staccato motions and sounds--just like I'd heard through the stethoscope.

Then, to my pleasant surprise, in one seamless stroke, she rode up on my cock with her pussy and all the way down on it with her anus. With total control over me, she up and downed on my raging hard cock with her ass just like it was a pussy, only tighter. At the same time, and not leaving any room for my fingers, she vigorously twiddled her clit, bringing herself to several orgasms, finally culminating in THE BIG ONE.

Just as I was about to cum, she suddenly stopped and dismounted me, dropping on her knees to the floor. She poured half a beer over my dick, wiped it off with a place mat, and started sucking it again ever so fine. Lubricating a middle finger with her pussy juice, she slipped it into my ass.

Well, that was it for me, and my first spurt went in her mouth. She jacked the subsequent spurts all over her face and neck, rubbing my underside of my cock against her lips and cheeks and nose. Semen ran down onto her lovely puffy nipples and onto her tummy and belly button. She sucked me back into her mouth, and with my dick deep into her throat, she just kept swallowing over and over, and I just kept cumming and cumming.

We sat there and drank another Bud together, and, never bothering to wipe her face, she seemed to be enjoying having cum all over her. I even smoked a Marlboro with her though I didn't smoke. (If a lesbian can fuck the occasional dick, then a nonsmoker can have an occasional cigarette.) She checked her watch, seemed startled, and said she had to go take Dyke Girl her dinner at work.

Saying good-bye at the front door, she asked me how I liked the sex. I told her it was great. Duh. "Me too. Remember it's our secret. Consider it payment for moving the furniture." I thought that an odd thing to say, for she enjoyed it at least as much as I did, but maybe she just needed a way to rationalize what she'd done.

A month or so later, we had an almost exact replay, though it was an upright piano that had to be moved that time. Once again, she said for me to consider the sex reimbursement for the moving.

I relocated to another city with a new job shortly thereafter while they were out of town on vacation, so I never even got a chance to say good-bye. I had all my stuff to move and could have surely used her help. I would have gladly had sex with her again--she could have just considered it payment for helping me move!

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