The Girl Upstairs

The guy was on his back on my kitchen floor, working on my recalcitrant dishwasher, which had stopped working just when every dish in the house was dirty and loaded into it. His name was Pete and he was in a tight blue Dish-o-Matic uniform, his long legs stretched across my kitchen floor. While Pete labored on, I was sitting nearby at my small breakfast table watching him repair, so naturally we started talking. It was just a lot of guy-stuff. Baseball. Basketball. Nascar. We were both big Nascar fans. I told him a story I had heard about Mickey Tokie, the lategreat driver, who, I heard, had had a drunken orgy with six luscious bimbos in a motel room just before that final race when he crashed his speedster into the sidewall, and was incinerated in a spectacular volcano of Nascar flames.

From there the conversation naturally drifted to our other favorite subject, women. Womenwomenwomen. Their legs. Their asses. Their racks. We enthusiastically recalled past pleasures. Tits. Pussies. Blowjobs. Fucks. Assfucks. And on and on and on. It so happens I had some good stuff I could show Pete, so I went into the bedroom and reached into my closet where I kept handy my treasure trove of fuck magazines. They were easily accessible, because I often perused them. I had been jerking off to them fairly frequently since my wife and I had broken up.

I walked into the kitchen with a few of my favorites, and Pete was finishing up, putting the last screws into the back of the dishwasher. He was still lying on the floor.

"Here. Look at this," I said and showed him a picture of this stacked blonde fingering her pussy. He put down his screwdriver and held the magazine up in front of his eyes.

"Wow," he said. "Nice." He turned the page. I knew what was on the next page. The blonde was sucking some lucky guy's long stiff thick cock.

"Wow. Nice." He reiterated. He started turning more pages. I could see his dick lengthening inside his tight blue uniform. Funny. I wasn't even looking at the magazine and I was getting a hard-on too.

"I just love blowjobs," I rhapsodized.

"Yeah. Me too," he answered. "I love the feeling of those nice wet lips wrapped around my dick, as I'm slamming my cock in until she starts to gag and choke." He laughed maniacally.

"Yeah. Me too. I really love blowjobs. I love when they lick your balls. And under your balls. Right around your ass. It kind of tickles. It's so fucking sexy. And then they go back and clamp their mouth over your cock and start suctioning it, all the while their making all these little squealing pleasure noises, like your cock was the best thing they've had in their mouth since their first Christmas candycane.

"Christ. Stop it. You're getting me hot," he said. He reached down and tried to adjust his tight pants around the obviously large constricted flesh contained therein.

"Sorry," I said. I also had to adjust a little, but he didn't see that. He had put down the magazine and was putting the last screw into the back of the dishwasher.

"Damn it. I wish I had someone to give me a nice hot blowjob right now," he said.

And that's when I got this great idea. Mona. My upstairs neighbor. She loved to suck cock. Who should know that better than I?

"I just had this crazy idea," I announced to Pete.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"My neighbor. The girl upstairs. She loves to suck cock. I mean, man, she gives the greatest blowjobs in the world."

"She does?" He sounded interested

"Maybe I could call her and ask her to come down. I think she'd be glad to suck that dick of yours. And she loves cum. She likes you to cum way down her throat so she can swallow it all."

"Oh, my god," said Pete. "You're driving me crazy."

"You want me to call her?" I asked.

"Hell yes," answered Pete enthusiastically. He had rolled the dishwasher back against the wall and was giving it a test cycle. At the same time, almost unconsciously he had started lightly rubbing the fabric of his uniform in the area of the zippered fly.

"You're gonna love Mona," I assured him.

"I know I will," he answered and followed me to the phone, rubbing his crotch all the way into the living room.

I picked up the receiver and dialed Mona's number. I knew it by heart.

Mona and I had met some months ago in the lobby, waiting for the elevator. I had just recently moved into the building after separating from my wife. My wife had kept our old apartment and I had taken this rental. (This rental with a lot of faulty equipment. Like the dishwasher that had just conked out.) It wasn't that Shirley and I were fighting or anything. It's just that we never saw each other. She worked all day. And I worked all night. I was the night manager in a printing plant, and it was a good job. But there was no way I was every going to get transferred to days. So Shirley and I mainly passed each other going in and out of the front door. We had no relationship anymore. We had no sex anymore. That was when I started buying magazines.

We mutually agreed that it would be better for us both if we separated, and tried to find a compatible partner living on the same shift. It had been a very long time since I'd had anything but a hand job. My own hand, that is. I was aching for some action.

One morning not long after I took this apartment, I was just getting home from work, and I was standing in the lobby in front of the elevator door, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. The elevator was on 24-----23----------22-----22------22----was someone holding the door? I was tired and I just wanted to hit the sack. (After first looking at one of the magazines, and getting rid of the heavy load my balls were carrying.) It had been a tough night. We had just completed a six color annual report for a major corporation. It had been a complicated job, but the report looked just great. Full of impressive two-page spread pictures of oil-rigs stretched clear across the Gulf of Mexico.

It was then that I first met Mona. She was dressed to kill, obviously getting home from a late evening. She had on a tight red dress, with a low cut collar and you could see the swell of her ample cleavage. Her lipstick, however, was completely smeared. She was carrying a small plastic bag from the deli, which was sufficiently see-through for me to detect a pint of non-dairy creamer.

"I haven't seen you before," she said. "You new in the building?"

"Yeah. Just a couple of weeks."

"Welcome," she said. "I'm Mona Ashcroft. Apartment 5C."

"Oh. You're right above me," I answered. "I'm in 4C. Jerry Jagger."

"Pleased to meet you," she said. And we shook hands. It was at that point that I started to remember some of the tantalizing noises that were coming from the apartment above me during the daytime while I was trying to get some sleep. I had heard what I thought was moaning. And occasionally I heard some words which I could barely make out, but at one point, I thought some guy was yelling "Suck it, bitch." I got a slight hard-on while I was half sleeping, but then I dozed off again. And, also I had heard the mattress squeaking a lot. This Mona was undoubtedly a very hot chick.

"You're up early," she commented, looking at her watch. It was now about 7:30 a.m.

"I'm up late," I countered. "I'm just getting home from work."

"My God," she said, with a slight pitying tone in her voice. "What do you do?"

"I work in a printing plant. I'm on the night shift."

"Your wife must love that," she commented.

"She didn't. That's why we're separated."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," I said. "You look like you're just getting home from a big evening."

"No. I was working too," she said.

"What type of work do you do?" I asked, hoping I wasn't being presumptuous.

"I cater bachelor parties," she said. "I take care of all the hiring and festivities to give the groom a big sendoff," she added.

"Sounds like an interesting profession," I commented, not really understanding what we were talking about. "And you catered a party last night?"

"Did I ever. It was one of those Park Avenue events in a big hotel ballroom I rented for the evening. There were over 200 guests."

"I'm impressed," I told her. I was sure there were a million details involved in catering a large bachelor party in a hotel ballroom.

The elevator arrived and I held the door for her. She pushed 5 and I was about to push 4 when she said---"Why don't you come up to my place for a little while. I'm about to make some coffee. We can chat."

I thought about it for a fraction of a second. I was tired, but what the hell. "Sure," I said. I didn't push 4.

Her apartment was just like mine. The layout, that is. Her decorations were a lot nicer. More feminine, you know. We went into the kitchen and I sat down at HER little kitchen table, while she made the coffee.

We chatted about this and that, and when she was seated across the table from me, she took out the cardboard pint of non-dairy creamer from the bag, and we both poured a little into our coffees.

"So now that you're separated, do you have a girlfriend?" She was being really direct considering our short acquaintance.

"No," I answered. "I don't have time. Where would I meet anyone?"

"Oh, I don't know," she kidded slyly. "Maybe waiting for an elevator."

"Yeah," I said, and we both laughed.

"So what do you do for relief?" Now she was really getting a little too personal.

"Not much," I said, evasively.

"But something," she persisted.

"Well, maybe a little something."

"And all by yourself?"

"Well how else?" I yelled at her. I was getting annoyed. This was embarrassing. She didn't have to know how I got my rocks off.

"I was only asking, because I thought maybe I could help," she said softly.

"Yeah?" I asked stupidly. What was she getting at? "How could you help?"

She swallowed the last sip of her coffee, and blotted her lips on a paper napkin. "Oh, you know," she said.

I didn't really know but I nodded my head.

"What I do for all the bachelors and their friends, I could do for you."

I was beginning to get an idea what she was referring to.

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I don't make a lot of money."

She laughed merrily. "Who said anything about money? We're neighbors, aren't we?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Well, I like to be neighborly. I may knock on your door and ask to borrow a cup of sugar sometime. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"

"No. I wouldn't mind that."

"And you're a very good looking guy. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah, a few people," I admitted, but not in a boastful way.

"Well, then."

"Well?" I still didn't know how to proceed. I didn't think I should make a grab for her.

She solved the problem for me. She came around the table and got me to push my chair back, and sat down on my lap. She leaned her head forward and we kissed. I stuck my tongue into her coffee flavored mouth. I could almost taste the non-dairy creamer. She was sitting down hard on my stiffening cock, and I had my arms around her waist and began to manipulate her weight on my itching throbbing appendage. She reached down and touched it through my pants.

"It feels really big," she whispered into my ear. "Is it really big?"

"Seven and a half," I said precisely. I had measured it more than once and I was proud of it.

"MMMMM," she whispered seductively into my ear again. "I love big cocks."

"You do?" I asked, hardly believing the luck that had come my way.

"I do," she whispered. "I want to see it. I want to see it right now."

She got up and immediately dropped to her knees in front of my chair. She slowly drew down my zipper, and worked her hand through the opening in my boxer shorts, and grabbed hold of it. Slowly she eased it through all openings, (outer and underwear) and it stood proudly erect, glad for a breath of fresh air, happy to be free of all fabric confinements.

She rubbed her hand up and down on it a few times, like she was idolizing it, and then suddenly her head swooped forward and she took it into her warm mouth.

"I love sucking cock," she told me. "You don't know how much I love sucking cock."

"That's great," I said happily. I could never understand what a woman gets out of sucking a cock. It didn't seem like the kind of thing that would ever be appealing. But 'chaqu'un a son gout', as they say. To each his own.

"Come on. Let's go into the bedroom," she said standing up and taking me by the hand. She led the way, and I happily followed.

Once we were both undressed, she positioned me on my back with my dick facing the ceiling. I looked up at the ceiling and wondered what adventures were awaiting me in Apartment 6C.

My god. Did this girl have a technique. I never felt anything like it in my life. I had never particularly liked blowjobs before, always preferring to fuck. But this blowjob---this one was beyond anything I had every felt. Beyond breastlicking, beyond pussyfucking, beyond assfucking. This was a whole new world. I had finally stumbled into Wonderland. "Eat me," I groaned. And she did.

All the while she was working on me she was moaning. Obscene turn-on moans. Her soft tongue moved down and tickled my balls. "oooooohhhhhh," I groaned. She smiled. She knew she was turning me on. She knew what she was doing, all right.

"Ooooohhhh."

"You like that Jerry?"

"Oooooohhhh."

"I know you do, honey. I know you do." Then she stopped talking and went back to bathing my large tightening balls. She eased my legs over her shoulders. (the same way I used to easy my wife's legs over my own shoulders, while I was fucking her.) What did she have in mind?

She lowered her head and began to tickle the smooth band of flesh behind my balls.

"Oooooohhhhh,"

"Feels great, doesn't it?" she asked me. Then she continued to lick me.

"Oooohhhhh."

And then the biggest surprise of all. Her lovely tongue was lapping my asscheeks, and it felt wonderful. In my whole life, I had never had my asscheeks lapped, and I suppose most guys have never had their asscheeks lapped, and my god, it was great. It was beyond great. I was really in Wonderland. "Lap me lap me lap me," screamed Alice to the March Hare.

And then... And you're not even going to believe this, she took her hands and spread my asscheeks, and her tongue was licking at my hole. Licking at my fucking asshole. Oh, my god.

"AAAAAGGGGGHHHH," I screamed as my body tossed on the bed like a freshly caught trout on the deck of a boat.

Oh my God. Her tongue was even going into my asshole. Oh my god.

"MMMMMMMM. MMMMMMM." Said Mona.

Now her mouth went back over my dick and her head went down and down and down, and the tip of my dick was hitting the back of her throat. I think they call that deep throat. Mona was deep throating me.

"AAAARRRRHHHH," I gurgled. I could feel the hot cum begin to boil inside my balls.

"I'm gonna cum," I screamed to give her warning to get it out of her mouth, but she just kept sucking and sucking and trying to get it even deeper inside. She twisted her body at a crazy angle to open her gullet, so my cock could slip past it deep into her esophagus-----and then it came. Splash after splash after splash---way down deep in her throat. "Drink me," said the bottle. And Alice did.

Mona, slowly and lovingly eased my spent dick into the front of her mouth, where she tongued the remaining droplets of my ejaculate as if it were the finest champagne. How can women like to do this kind of stuff, I wondered. And yet I was intrigued. I wondered what it was really like for her. She obviously got something out of it.

"There wasn't a dick at the bachelor party as nice as yours,' she assured me. I think I felt flattered.

"Thank you so much," I said with heartfelt sincerity. "You don't know how much I needed that."

"I think I do," she said, patting my shoulder. "And any time. I mean that. I'm right upstairs."

"I wouldn't want to impose," I protested.

"You're not imposing. Just give me a call first to make sure I'm free. Here let me give you my number." She wrote it down on a post-it and handed it to me. "I mean that. Any time. I love sucking cock."

"How could anybody like sucking cock?" I asked, shaking my head.

"No man can understand," she told me. "It's beyond wonderful. Working that sweet smooth dick into a hard rigid pole as I stroke it, and then sliding that smooth hard rod into my mouth, all the way into my mouth, as I milk it and milk it. And my final reward and greatest joy is a mouth full of hot sweet cum. Hot sweet mancum. It's beyond wonderful. You can't begin to imagine. And to know that as I'm enjoying myself, I'm giving exquisite pleasure to another human being. Life doesn't get any better. Sucking cock is paradise. That's all anyone could ever want in the next life."

Well. If she was happy, I was happy. I kissed her lightly on the lips, not tasting the coffee or the creamer now, but maybe the last vestige of my own sperm. I went to the elevator, pushed the button, got in and went down one floor to my own apartment where I got undressed and got into bed and fell into a long deep wonderful sleep. Without even looking at my magazines.

Even though I didn't want to be pushy, I took frequent advantage of Mona's hospitality. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it even more than I did. Sometimes instead of concentrating on my own pleasure, I began to try to imagine what it was like for her. To have my cock in my mouth. To lick it. To suck it. To lap my large hairy balls. To stick my tongue into my tight asshole, which I made sure was always very clean when I visited Mona. I always took a shower first, and eased a soapy finger into my little rectal hole. It felt kind of nice. I think my ass was getting a little eroticized. I wondered if maybe I was turning a little queer. But, hell, I think a lot of guys would get off on having their asshole fingered and licked. Wouldn't they?

It was taking me longer and longer to come, because I wasn't feeling my own body all the time. My mind was in Mona's head. I studied every movement of hers. Every finger twitch, every tongue flick, the way her cheeks sucked in as she created a veritable vacuum in her mouth; the way she positioned herself so that my dick could pass her uvula as she buried the shaft entirely in her mouth, until her lips were resting against my balls. She was an expert. I had been very lucky to find Mona.

She raised her eyes to mine and saw me intently studying her.

"What's the matter, honey? Anything wrong?"

"No," I protested. "Everything is just great. I was just concentrating on your technique."

"Honey, my technique is patented. There isn't another lady in the world, who can do what I can do."

"I believe that," I said. She smiled at me and swallowed my long shaft again, and within a few moments she had brought me to the doorstep of Nirvana.

"AAARRRGGGHHH," I screamed as the scum began blasting out of my dick into her warm mouth. She drank it down like lemonade. I blasted and she drank. We had a good thing going.

* * * *

And then one day, the awful happened. I had used every dish in my apartment, and when I went to turn on the dishwasher. Nothing. I pressed the button again. Nothing. I pressed the fucking button six more times. I took a plate out of the dead machine and washed it by hand in the sink, so that I could eat my dinner before I went to work. Then I looked up Dish-0-Matic in the phone book and called for a repairman. They promised me that someone would be there between noon and four on Wednesday, the 26th. Great. Only 10 days to wait. Only 10 days of washing dishes by hand. What a world.

But shortly after noon on the 26th the buzzer rang, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I picked up the intercom. "Dish-O-Matic," he said from the lobby. Thank God. I buzzed him in and waited by the door. That was how Pete came to be in my apartment today, fixing my dishwasher.