When $name1 goes downstairs to borrow a charger, her neighbor presses her against the stairwell wall and she drops to her knees, sucking his thick cock until he comes down her throat while flat doors stay shut around them.
$name1 knocked twice on flat 2B and almost turned around. Twenty-eight. Wedged into a thin summer dress with nothing underneath because the laundry was still spinning and she had told herself this would take thirty seconds. Her phone was dead. Her husband was stuck on a late train. She needed a charger.
The door opened on Liam. Tall. Dark hair still damp from a shower. Grey joggers hanging low on his hips. No shirt. A line of hair down his stomach that her eyes followed before she could stop herself.
“Charger,” she said, holding up the dead phone like an excuse. “Please. I know it’s late.”
Liam looked at her for a long second. At the dress. At the way her nipples showed through the fabric. At the bare tops of her thighs. He stepped into the corridor instead of inviting her in and closed his door softly behind him.
“Come here,” he said.
$name1’s pulse jumped. For six months they had traded polite hellos and lingering looks in the lobby. Once he had caught her staring at his mouth in the lift. Once she had answered the door in a towel and watched his throat work. Tonight there was no polite left.
He backed her against the cool stairwell wall between their floors. The concrete smelled of paint and dust. Somewhere above, a TV murmured behind a closed door. Liam’s hand slid under her dress and found bare cunt, already slick.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “No knickers. You came down like this on purpose.”
$name1’s face burned. “I needed a charger.”
“You needed this.” Two thick fingers pushed into her, slow and deep. She gasped and grabbed his shoulders. He curled them and rubbed her clit with his thumb until her knees nearly gave. “I’ve watched you walk past my door for months. Married little tease. Tonight you kneel.”
He pulled his fingers free, shiny with her, and pushed them into her mouth. $name1 sucked. Salt. Herself. Filthy. Liam shoved his joggers down. His cock sprang free — thick, hard, the head already wet. Bigger than her husband’s. The sight of it made her cunt clench hard.
$name1 dropped to her knees on the stairwell landing.
The concrete bit through her bare skin. She wrapped both hands around his shaft and licked a long stripe from base to tip, tasting clean skin and precum. Liam hissed and braced one palm on the wall above her head.
“That’s it. Open up. Take your neighbor’s cock like a good little slut.”
She took him into her mouth. Hot. Heavy. She sucked the head first, tongue swirling, then pushed deeper until he hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered. She pulled back, spit-strung, then went again, bobbing, one hand stroking what she couldn’t fit, the other cupping his balls.
Liam’s free hand fisted her hair. Not gentle. He held her there and fucked her mouth in short thrusts, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet stairwell.
“Look at you,” he muttered. “Married cunt on her knees two floors from her own flat. Sucking me off where anyone could open a door. Your husband know how dirty you are?”
$name1 moaned around his cock. The vibration made him swear. She pulled off just long enough to answer, voice wrecked.
“He doesn’t. Fuck my throat. Use me.”
She dove back on. Deeper. Her throat fluttered and she forced herself through the gag, tears slipping down her cheeks, spit soaking his shaft and dripping onto her tits where the dress had slipped. Liam’s hips snapped. He was close. She could feel it in the way his cock swelled against her tongue.
A door clicked somewhere above. Footsteps. Then another door. Silence again. $name1’s cunt was throbbing, untouched, dripping onto her thighs. She shoved two of her own fingers between her legs and rubbed her clit in hard little circles while she sucked him.
“Greedy whore,” Liam growled. “Fingering that married cunt while you choke on me. Do it. Come on your neighbor’s cock without him even fucking you.”
She did. The orgasm hit filthy and sharp — her thighs shaking on the concrete, moan muffled around his shaft, cunt clenching on nothing while spit ran down her chin. Liam yanked her hair and shoved deep, past the soft resistance of her throat, and came hard.
Hot thick spurts flooded her mouth. She swallowed as much as she could, gagging softly, the rest leaking from the corner of her lips onto her dress. He held her there through it, hips stuttering, cock pulsing on her tongue until he was empty.
When he pulled out, a string of spit and cum connected her lower lip to his tip. $name1 licked it up. She stayed on her knees, breathing hard, fingers still sticky from her own cunt.
Liam tucked himself away and looked down at her like he owned the mess on her face.
“Charger,” he said, almost laughing. He unlocked his door, vanished for ten seconds, and came back with a white cable. He dropped it into her lap. “Bring it back tomorrow. Same time. No dress. I want that cunt on my tongue before I fuck it.”
$name1 stood on shaky legs. Her knees were red. Her mouth tasted of him. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand and straightened the dress over her wet thighs.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
She climbed the stairs to her own flat with the charger in one fist and her husband’s unread texts lighting the dead phone the second she plugged it in. She typed a normal reply about laundry and trains. Then she locked the bathroom door, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pushed three fingers into her still-throbbing cunt while she replayed the wet slap of Liam’s cock fucking her throat in the stairwell.
She came again with his name bitten into her wrist.
Tomorrow she would go bare. Tomorrow she would knock. And this time she would not pretend she only needed a charger.
