by Qwillia Rain
MEETING A NEIGHBOR’S
NEEDS
Qwillia Rain
www.loose-id.com
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Meeting a Neighbor’s Needs
Qwillia Rain
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © August 2008 by Qwillia Rain
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-761-0
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Georgia A. Woods
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
www.loose-id.com
Chapter One
I met George when I moved into my apartment after graduating college. Lest I misrepresent myself, I wasn’t your typical new grad. I had put college off after high school and had just celebrated my thirtieth birthday a month before I received my Bachelor’s degree. Now all I needed was a teaching contract before the summer ended and I’d feel like a bona fide grown-up.
The day I moved in, one of my girlfriends helped me. Lugging my queen-size mattress up the two flights of stairs, we were laughing and joking, not really paying attention to our surroundings. With me on the front end, my back to the hallway, and Olive on the other, I didn’t see my neighbor until I slammed into him.
The shock of electricity zipping through my body as my back nestled against his front, the warmth of his arm as it wrapped around my waist, his palm spread over my lower belly, the tips of his ring and little finger pressing over my pussy -- all stole my breath for a moment. Once I recovered it, his scent enveloped and seduced my senses, and the sharp tang of freshly washed skin and male musk triggered a primal attraction I had no control over.
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“Careful there.” The deep timbre of his voice and his warning chuckle had my heart slamming against my ribs. His other hand grasped the mattress to keep it from tumbling Olive over. “Just moving in?” he asked.
The top of my head reached his shoulder, which was broad and firmly muscled. Tilting my head and nodding, I turned. He seemed reluctant to release me. Withdrawing first the hand holding the mattress, his fingers stroked my breast, bringing the nipple to a taut, swollen peak, making me wonder if he’d experienced the same primitive response. Then his other hand caressed my hip as he let go of my waist. I swallowed an aroused moan and smiled up at him. “Yes. Number twenty-five.”
I was quick to notice the vague resemblance he bore to George Clooney, and from the expression on Olive’s face, she recognized it as well. His lopsided grin, dark green eyes, and wavy black hair, lightly sprinkled with gray and flopping rakishly over his forehead, just increased the similarities.
He tipped his head toward the door behind him. “I’m in twenty-six. If you need any help, give me a holler.”
We exchanged names -- his really was George -- and all of us laughed about his resemblance to the actor. A few more minutes of chitchat followed. When I mentioned needing to get back to moving, he stepped closer to his apartment so we could pass.
Over the next few hours, Olive and I spotted him numerous times as we lugged boxes up and down the stairs. For the ones that were obviously very heavy, he would immediately relieve us of our burden and take them into my one-bedroom apartment for me. Olive teased me about him when he was out of earshot, and though I laughed it off, my body grew hot just thinking about him. If I hadn’t had so much work to do getting my things moved in, I would have taken the time to change my wet panties after I creamed them the first time an image of George sliding his cock into my pussy made me forget what I was doing.
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Of course, my fantasy played through my head repeatedly that first night in my new home. While showering away the dust and sweat from hauling furniture and boxes up two flights of stairs, I let the warm water soak away the aches in my shoulders, back, and legs.
Between my thighs, though, another ache built as I imagined George stripping down and stepping into the shower with me.
In my mind, calloused hands slid over my tingling breasts, tugging and pinching the beaded nipples while the heat of his thick cock poked at my ass. With his extra height, he’d have to crouch to align the head of his shaft with my pussy. Wet as I was, it still surprised me when my fantasy George straightened, pressing every inch of his thick length deep into my eager sheath.
Even at my age, I wasn’t an overly experienced woman. I could count the number of lovers I’d had on one hand, with a couple of fingers left over. None of them held the girth or finesse the make-believe George did. The scent of his body had stirred my libido even before I laid eyes on him. And afterward, it was no surprise to me that he featured in my erotic imaginings as the warm water poured over my body.
Letting the water pound down on my pinkening flesh, I slid my hands between my thighs, gently stroking the damp lips apart before circling and pressing on the tight little nubbin tucked away beneath its hood. Coaxing it out with smooth motions, I could feel the beat of my heart thudding through the knob. The heat of my pussy dripped over my hand as my imaginings grew even more erotic. The thrust of my fingers into my sopping channel set the pace I fantasized George would use -- hard and fast. Even as the contractions squeezed my fingers and the tingle of orgasm spread from my belly outward, something warned me that the climax I’d induced would be nothing when compared to one brought on by George.
* * * * *
I never acted on the impulse to invite him into my apartment or out for a drink, which I regret now. Instead, I spent more than a year being a “good girl,” making small talk in the 4 Qwillia Rain
hallways, exchanging cookies on the holidays, and generally wasting my nights fantasizing about my neighbor.
It all changed eighteen months after I’d first run into him and the last night I spent with my boyfriend of six months, Bob.
Bob was a lackluster lover, pedantic in his foreplay -- when he tried foreplay, that was -- and completely uninspired in his lovemaking. He preferred the typical missionary position, grew squeamish if I tried to dominate, and balked at the mere mention of bondage.
He’d made a tentative request, once, to invite a former girlfriend to try a ménage a trois, but quashed the idea when I said I would do it if we could invite a male friend, visions of George dancing through my mind when I suggested it, to join the two of us.
The last night we spent together was one of the most memorable nights of my life.
Not because of anything Bob did, though.
It began with a phone call at work. Bob hinted he might be over, but my lack of interest must have been evident over the phone. Not that I didn’t want to enjoy a little sex; it was the prospect of anticipating a climax Bob c
ould never provide that kept my response from being more animated. There had been a few times when he could actually hold on long enough to bring me to orgasm, but it had only happened three or four times in the six months we’d been together.
I bought a bottle of wine just in case he showed up. Juggling the bottle, my briefcase, and my shoulder bag as I approached the door, I bumped into my next-door neighbor. The bottle tumbled from my hand, and I winced, waiting to hear the breaking glass. Instead, George caught the thick green bottle before it hit the ground. A wry grin twisted his lips as he rose to his full six feet three and read the label on the wine. “Nice, but I’d recommend you let the boyfriend drink it after.”
Surprised at his audacity, I was unable to curb my tongue. “Why is that?”
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“From what I’ve heard, he has a bit of a…control problem. The wine will only make it worse.”
The demon within slipped loose. “And what makes you an expert? Have you suffered the same…problem?”
As he tucked the bottle into my open purse, his blunt-tipped fingers slid over my breast, teasing the suddenly erect nipple. “I’ve had no complaints so far.”
“Ah, but then, you’ve never had me.” I’m not sure who was more surprised at my response -- him or me! But I just couldn’t let it go. “I tend to be more particular than most.”
His reply was quick and full of knowledge gleaned from having heard Bob and me through the thin apartment walls. “Well, if I had, you can be certain I wouldn’t leave you to finish what I started.”
Sometimes I marvel at the alter ego dwelling within me. I also wish it had reared its head eighteen months earlier. Instead of mumbling an excuse and scurrying to my apartment, I moved closer to George, keeping eye contact the entire time. The fist clutching my keys moved between us. I caressed the firm flesh behind the fly of his jeans with my knuckles, smiled a wicked smile, and taunted, “Promises, promises.”
Fortunately, the sane part of my brain wrenched me away and down to the door of my apartment before George could respond. He was still standing in the hall, talking with a dark-haired man when I glanced back. In those moments before I slipped inside my home, the sexual interest in their eyes as they met my gaze had my nipples peaking and my panties so wet, I was stripping them off the second my door shut behind me.
Bob showed up after nine -- his way of telling me I hadn’t sounded eager enough on the phone. I really didn’t care how he felt. My mind was nicely fuzzy due to the two large glasses of wine I’d consumed. Bob finished the bottle as he maneuvered me into my bedroom.
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I loved my bedroom. It was large, with French doors leading onto a balcony overlooking a small wood. A low nine-drawer dresser in blond oak sporting a broad mirror faced the matching four-poster, queen-size bed. It was a playground begging for exquisite sexual fantasies.
So far it had only had Bob.
Visions of my sexy neighbor superimposed themselves over Bob as he fumbled to undress himself, dropping the empty wine bottle to the plush carpet beside my bed. I wore nothing beneath my burgundy silk robe.
As if he’d been privy to my earlier conversation with George, Bob performed as dismally as ever. He showed cursory attention to my breast, pressed sloppy, wet kisses on my lips, pulled on a condom, then pushed into me.
I didn’t bother to pretend; Bob got off without caring about my satisfaction. His grunts and groans were loud enough to reach through the walls to my neighbor. I only hoped George’s presence in the hall earlier was an indication he was leaving and wasn’t anywhere near to hear my lover’s performance.
When he finished, Bob slipped from the bed into the bathroom. Tired of having to deal with my own satisfaction, I knew the relationship was over as he climbed into bed and whispered in my ear what he wanted. Knowing I would be saying goodbye as soon as possible, I decided a little oral stimulation would make the ending easier, at least for me.
Taking his flaccid penis in my hand, I caressed, kissed, licked, and pumped him to a semierect state. Another of Bob’s failings -- he took ore f
ver to get hard a second time. More
often than not, I would have to bring myself to orgasm once, sometimes twice, before he was anywhere close to ready to fuck a second time.
The way Bob carried on as I worked him with my mouth, you would have thought an entire harem was going down on him. Kneeling between his skinny thighs (I wonder now what I ever saw in such a lacking specimen of maleness), I had just traded my hand for my Meeting a Neighbor’s Needs
7
mouth when a broad pair of hands grasped my hips, and the biggest, hardest cock slammed into me from behind.
Bob squealed in surprise.
I screamed -- in ecstasy.
It felt so good to have a hot, hard length stretching me, filling every inch, pushing deep, and then pulling back.
Poor Bob. He lay spluttering up at the man fucking me so exquisitely. I released Bob’s limp member and braced my hands on the mattress, spreading my thighs wider to allow the man riding me deeper penetration.
I knew George had taken me up on my earlier challenge. His husky voice only confirmed it.
“Get lost, Bob,” he ordered.
And Bob, coward that he was, did just that. He scrambled out of the bed, jerked on his clothes, and scurried away, all the time watching George as he pumped into me, and I moaned my enjoyment.
The force of George’s thrusts brought gasps from my lips every time. He was longer, harder, and thicker than any of my previous lovers. More forceful, too! I sensed he held back, kept from pushing his full length into me. He would pull almost completely out, leaving only the bulbous tip of his penis at the wet entrance of my pussy, and tease me with it. Pulsing his hips so just his head stayed inside me, the hold he had on my hips prevented me from capturing his full length by thrusting backward.
I tensed my vaginal muscles, squeezing him; he only laughed. After what seemed an eternity, he pushed inside, drawing another cry from my lips. My fists gripped the sheets as he worked in and out, first fast, then with excruciating slowness. I could feel my climax building. My breasts swelled, my thighs quivered, and the muscles in my belly jumped with every inch he advanced and retreated. Still, George took his time.
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I was aware of him asking a question and me answering. His weight on my back and the sound of the bedside drawer opening then closing registered in a corner of my mind. The reason didn’t become clear until he pulled out and I heard the sound of a cap popping.
The tube of lubricant I had bought months ago when I’d been tempted to talk to Bob about one of my fantasies. It had gone unused due to his squeamishness. Until now.
A mewling whimper echoed in the room and it took me a moment to realize the sound had come from me.
“Just wait, Gina.” His rumbling voice filled my darkened bedroom. His hands began to caress my butt, smoothing over my rounded flesh, exploring with his fingers, then with his sheathed cock. The feel of his thick member against the sensitive crease of my ass sent shivers up my spine. The shiver grew to a shudder as he pressed the tip of the tube against my anus and applied some of the cool gel. His cock pushed into my pussy enough to redampen the rubber he wore with my juices before he spread my cheeks and began to penetrate my ass.
When I cried out in protest and tried to lurch away, he stopped. He apologized, rubbing his hands over my trembling flesh, wiping away the lube with a corner of my sheets before dipping his fingers between my thighs to stroke the plump folds awaiting his attention. Once I’d calmed a bit, his fingers slipped away. The hair on his thighs rasped against my bare skin as George pushed between my quivering thighs and buried himself, measuring his full length inside, until his coarse pubic hair tangled with my own. He didn’t thrust this time. Bracing one hand on the bed over my shoulder and wrapping the other firmly around my waist, George sent me over the edge with a rhythmic pulse and rota
tion of his hips that would have made Elvis envious.
Through my climax, I noticed George didn’t come when I did. He remained solidly planted within me while the walls of my body contracted around him. His breathing was smooth, measured, without any sign of exertion as he waited for me to relax. When I fell Meeting a Neighbor’s Needs
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limp to the damp sheets, he laughed, settled his weight more fully over me, and caressed my breasts, his dick still hard.
“I’m just getting started, baby.” His lips trailed down the nape of my neck, his breath warm against my flesh, fingers stroking and plucking at my still-firm nipples.
Beneath his caress, I stretched like a languid kitten, enjoying the hard, hot length so snug within me. Lazily, I rubbed against him. The coarse hair on his chest against my back made me sigh. His touch on my breasts stirred my arousal.
With deft skill, he rolled onto his back, his cock never leaving me, and situated my body so I straddled him, facing the mirror over my dresser. The shadows behind me hid George’s face, but his broad hands were dark against my lightly tanned belly.
“Ride,” he ordered, his voice gruff in the silent bedroom.
So I did. Up and down, I moved rhythmically over his hard cock. Once, as I lifted, he slipped his hand between our bodies and eased his forefinger into my pussy, stretching me further. Pressing in tandem with the rise and fall of my body, he stroked the wall of my vagina. Sensations quivered through my core, shot through my breasts. Focused on the feelings, I wasn’t aware he’d slipped his finger free and was probing my anus as I slid down again. The penetration made me gasp, though I didn’t fight it as I had earlier. Another orgasm was spiraling outward from my womb, spreading down my legs and up my chest until I cried out.
I lost track of my orgasms after the fourth. I never saw George’s face that night -- each time he had me, it was always from behind. Once he even used the long throat of the wine bottle Bob had abandoned beside the bed. The supply of condoms I kept in the nightstand was seriously depleted by the time he finished.
A wicked gleam lit his green eyes whenever we passed in the hall after that night…
