Sara Jean hadn't been waiting long when Kirk the Realtor pulled up in his BMW. The tall, immaculately groomed man practically leapt from the car, walking quickly, hand extended, all the while flashing that toothy, brilliant smile that Sara Jean was sure he practiced for hours at a time each night.
"Sara... ," he purred.
"Sara Jean," she mentally corrected.
" ... are you excited?" he asked as he performed the old 'grip and grin'.
Despite her reflexive dislike for him, she was excited. Kirk had hooked her up with a fantastic apartment. The building was old, but all 4 units were newly renovated. Sara Jean would be the first tenant in her unit since the renovation. Kirk stepped past her, pulled out a key ring and unlocked the building's front door. He moved to the side, indicating Sara Jean should step in while he held the door, his whole posture saying he was oh so very gallant.
"Let me explain how this is going to work," he said as he led her upstairs. "All the units are leased. You'll have the the building to yourself for a few days, a week at most. Two of the other tenants will be moving in around that time. The last one should be in around the 1st of next month."
By this point, they'd reached Sara Jean's unit, #4, towards the back of the building. This time, Kirk unlocked the unit's door, which slowly swung open to the living room, brightly sun lit and empty, but full of possibility and the smell of new paint.
"Welcome home," Kirk said as he held up the key ring.
The line was a little too smooth and practiced. Sara Jean couldn't help but smile as she took the keys.
Those first few days, by herself, were bliss for Sara Jean. At her old place, the neighbors on either side of her unit had been extremely noisy and extremely unconcerned with the consequences of that noise. She luxuriated in the silence.
But nothing lasts forever, and as Kirk had warned, the other renters started moving in 4 days later. First was La Ronda, a tall black girl with a flame red afro who would live directly below Sara Jean. La Ronda favored big, jangly pieces of jewelry and flower print, low cut dresses that showed off her mighty cleavage. She looked like something out of '70's blaxploitation movie. Sara Jean liked her immediately, for her audacity if nothing else. A few hours later came Heather with the smooth, porcelain white skin and frizzy, raven hair, who would have the unit directly next door. Sara Jean was sure she was going to miss the peace and quiet, but after one night it was obvious the other two were as inclined to silence as she was. Sara Jean couldn't believe her luck.
By the second of the next month, Sara Jean was comfortable enough with her new surroundings that she could unlock the building's front door and make it to the stairs almost fully on autopilot ... which is why she didn't notice who was going into the remaining, empty unit, #1, only that someone had gone in and closed the door. Sara Jean made a mental note of it, and continued up the stairs.
The door to Heather's unit was wide open, the sound of a TV program spilling into the hall. Sara Jean stopped and looked. She could see the TV, her view partially obscured by the sofa in the middle of the room. No sign of Heather.
Sara Jean poked her head in and knocked on the door frame, "Hello?"
Heather's head appeared over the back of the couch, "Oh, hey!"
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, terrific. Just watching some TV. Didn't even know the door was open. Sorry."
She seemed a little breathless, flustered even, "You sure you're alright?"
Sara Jean shrugged, "Okay. I'm heading back to my place. Door open or closed?"
"Closed, if you don't mind."
Sara Jean closed the door behind her.
It began 2 nights later.
Sara Jean wasn't sure what woke her, only that all of a sudden she was awake. Her clock said 3:07a. She rolled over and prepared to drift back off when she heard it, so soft that she wasn't at all sure she'd heard anything at all, and just as she'd convinced herself she was hearing things, she heard it again. Convinced now it was something, she lay very still and held her breath, hoping to figure out where it was coming from.
The breathy moan came from the other side of the bedroom wall. From Heather's bedroom.
Sara Jean thought immediately of how distracted Heather had seemed a couple days earlier, not even aware her apartment door was open and she worried. But after a moment, she picked up on the tempo to the moaning...
"ooohhh ... ooohhh ... ooohhh."
... and she understood. Sara Jean smiled, partly out of relief and partly out of a vicarious thrill. She rolled over and was quickly back asleep.
Sara Jean's eyes snapped open and she glanced at the clock. 3:07a. For a long second all was silence, and then...
"Yes!" the cry punctuated by a bump of a headboard against the shared wall.
Heather was louder tonight. Sara Jean could clearly hear the moans and sighs and gasps and everything Heather coherently spoke to her lover...
... it was accompanied by the bump of the headboard against the wall.
It surprised Sara Jean how it wasn't bothering her, being woken up in the middle of the night two nights in a row. If anything, she was a little envious, and there was no denying it was a little hot to listen to.
Unbidden, her hand traced slow, gentle circles along her tummy before drifting down between her legs, where she was surprisingly moist. The surprise shocked her out of her ease dropping. As hot as it was to listen to, and as understandable as it would be, it was still a little pervie to jill herself off to the sounds of her neighbor's fucking. She curled up, legs pressed tightly together and fell asleep to the scent of her musk on her fingers.
Sara Jean's eyes snapped open.
This night, there was no waiting or wondering what was happening in Heather's room.
The headboard was crashing against the wall, this night accompanied by the sounds of bed springs working. Heather had abandoned all reserve; every noise she made came clearly through the wall. Every gasp, every moan, every sobbed cry for more.
And Sara Jean abandoned her inhibitions. Automatically, she rolled onto her back and thrust a hand into her bottoms, imagining Heather with her legs high in the air, then wrapped around her lover's hips. After a few strokes, Sara Jean was imagining it was her getting fucked. Her free hand pawed at her tits.
"Faster!" Heather screamed. "Faster!"
Sara Jean's hand felt like a dervish and her thumb ached as she worked her clit. Her back arched now, she was close. She went faster.
"Oh God ... I'm cumming ... yes!" Heather yelled. "Abigail ... yes ... Abigail!"
Heather cut off, as if this Abigail were kissing her, and Sara Jean froze. It was too late. Cutting short the masturbation had blunted her orgasm, but she still had cum. As she lay there, recovering her wits, she couldn't shake off the shame of what she'd done. Heather was fucking a girl and Sara Jean had gotten off on it. She pushed the thought away and fell back asleep.
It still seemed so confusing in the morning.
What she'd done, playing with herself and getting off on it was completely understandable. Anybody would have done what she'd done because it was utterly hot to listen to. She had no way of knowing, until it was too late, that Heather had been with another girl. It was none of her business if Heather preferred to fuck girls. But still, Heather had been fucking a girl and Sara Jean had gotten off on it. She didn't know what to make of it. She resolved to avoid Heather for a few days.
Though she'd wake up with a wet pussy each morning, there were no more nocturnal interruptions and Sara Jean was getting a full night's sleep. By Saturday morning, she'd even been able to convince herself that things had returned to normal. Even so, she slept late that morning, late enough that she could go check her mail while her coffee brewed.
She made her way to the building's lobby, still in her pj's. As she approached, she saw La Ronda there, leaning against the wall the mail boxes were built into. The tall black girl was wearing low rise jeans, with a sexy whale tail breaching the line of the jeans, and a tight, midriff bearing t-shirt. Sara Jean assumed she was skimming her mail.
She assumed incorrectly. Because she came up from behind, she couldn't see that La Ronda was talking to someone, or rather, someone was talking to La Ronda The woman was considerably shorter than La Ronda, shorter than Sara Jean even, and Asian with unnaturally black hair. The woman had a bemused, almost arrogant, smirk on her face. Her fingernails were lightly stroking the skin over LaRonda's hip bone. Slowly, the woman turned to examine Sara Jean, and the look on her face went from bemused to predatory.
"Well, who do we have here?" the woman's voice was deep and musical. "La Ronda, don't be rude. Introduce me to your friend."
Sara Jean turned. La Ronda looked equal parts confused and terrified. When she spoke, her voice fluttered nervously. But between her shallow breathing and the nipples raising massive bumps in her t-shirt, it was impossible for Sara Jean not to notice her friend was wildly aroused.
"This is Sara Jean. She lives in #4. Sara Jean, this is Abigail, she just moved into #1."
Sara Jean flashed back to listening in on Heather, her pussy suddenly wet.
Abigail's smile turned into one of delight, "I'm so glad to FINALLY meet you! But if you'll excuse us, La Ronda and I have something we need to finish. I'll check in on you later, for sure."
Sara Jean turned back to La Ronda, who said, "It's okay, Sara Jean. I'll be alright."
Sara Jean retreated back to her apartment.
Ultimately, it was morbid curiosity that moved her. She told herself she had errands to run, a life to live. She told herself she was not going to be sent to her room and told to wait by some stranger, no matter how hot she was. Sara Jean started telling herself this, however, only after the sounds started drifting up from La Ronda's apartment, directly below. The noise didn't transmit as well as from Heather's apartment so Sara Jean couldn't tell what was happening down there; only that there were people there.
Though her car was parked out front, she took the back stairs down to the 1st floor, which would take her past LaRonda's unit as she made her way forward. The door to LaRonda's apartment was slightly ajar. Sara Jean had the distinct impression it had been left that way for her. Silently, she pushed the door open.
The floor plan of the 4 apartments were identical; while Heather had placed her couch in the middle of the room, La Ronda had placed hers against the wall, to the right. She was sitting on the sofa, in profile, head thrown back. Feet resting on the coffee table. Her hands mauled her bared breasts, alternately cupping and pulling. Abigail knelt in front of her, fingering herself as she roughly ate out the big woman's snatch.
LaRonda's strong, confident voice was back, "There ... oh, right there ... oh yeah ... oh baby ... you're making my cunt feel soooo good."
For the second time in as many hours, Sara Jean ran back to her apartment.
Eventually, La Ronda became even more vocal, her orgasmic screams so piercing that Sara Jean turned on her TV to drown out them out. She waited for Abigail to come for her with dread and a sickening knot in her stomach.
Abigail never came. What came instead was fatigue, the waiting and wondering and worrying combining to form a mass of fatigue only sleep would relieve. Sara Jean locked her door, and to make especially sure, jammed a chair under the door knob. It was unusually early or her to go to bed, 9p, but she had just enough energy to collapse onto her mattress.
She was in a room, impossibly large, she could see no end. She could hear La Ronda calling to her. She ran to the voice.
It didn't feel like she'd run far, but she was moving very fast. Fast enough that she didn't see what she tripped on. Despite her speed, the impact was soft, gentle even. She rolled on to her back. La Ronda was at her feet, towering over her, hands on hips. She was naked, displaying herself for Sara Jean. Her breasts, huge and round, sagged only a little from their weight, nipples hard and swollen, ribs tapering down then flaring wide at her hips, a layer of fat over the belly that made her look lush and womanly, thick, toned legs and calves. At the center of it all was her cunt, wet and puffy, with a trimmed and styled tuft of hair over the slit.
Looking at La Ronda, Sara Jean realized two things: That she wanted this vision in a way unlike anything she'd ever wanted before, which was okay because this was a dream; and that, somehow, she knew this really was what La Ronda looked like naked, which meant this was a dream but it wasn't JUST a dream.
Slowly, La Ronda went to her knees and once there she took Sara Jean's ankles in her hands. Slowly she pushed her hands up Sara Jean's legs, opening them. Sara Jean didn't resist. The stench of her own pussy filled her senses. As LaRonda's hands moved up, she gradually bent forward. The hands were brushing across Sara Jean's thighs now, almost to her pussy, then ducked under and around her legs. LaRonda's arms wrapped around Sara Jean's hips, her fingers peeling Sara Jean's gooey twat open. The black girl lay between Sara Jean's legs. She began to lick.
Sara Jean shuddered when LaRonda's tongue touched her slit, furrowing it's length again and again. Sara Jean whimpered and moaned, both in her dream and in reality. She reached down, grabbing La Ronda by the hair to urge her on. But La Ronda would go no faster, she just worked bottom to top with deliberation, with an occasional nibble or suck for Sara Jean's clit. Sara Jean sobbed with joy and frustration, she begged La Ronda, she thrust her hips, but La Ronda would go no faster.