Neighbor's Ass Is Where the Heart Is

Terrence heard her deadbolt turn and froze halfway up the third-floor landing, gym bag digging into his shoulder. Twenty-eight years old and a personal trainer who could hold a plank until his clients begged, and still his pulse jumped like a kid’s every time the woman across the hall came out. Six months of this. Six months of hallway small talk that ran too long, of her leaning in the doorway in those tight yoga pants while he pretended he had somewhere else to be.

Rochelle stepped into the corridor in a faded black tank and charcoal leggings that clung to every curve. Twenty-six, graphic designer, the kind of body that made his mouth go dry: full hips, thick thighs, a soft belly he wanted under his hands, and an ass that the stretch fabric worshipped. Her dark hair was piled up, a few curls stuck to her neck. She saw him and smiled, slow and knowing.

“Late client?” she asked.

“Last one canceled.” His voice came out rougher than he meant. “You heading out?”

“Balcony. It’s too hot in there and I don’t feel like wine.” She tipped her head. “You can stand in the hall pretending you’re not staring, or you can come sit.”

He followed her through the apartment he had helped her move into—monitors glowing on the desk, sketches pinned crooked, the couch that faced the sliding door. Outside, the city hummed under a heavy summer night. They sat on the two cheap chairs with nothing but water between them, knees almost touching. No drinks. Just the heat and the months of almost.

“You’ve been looking at my ass like it owes you money,” she said, not teasing so much as stating a fact.

Terrence didn’t deny it. “You’ve been wearing those pants like you want me to.”

Rochelle turned her glass of water in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes stayed on his. “I keep thinking about you when I’m trying to work. About your hands. About how big you felt that one time you brushed past me in the stairwell and I spent the rest of the night with my fingers in my panties.” She swallowed. “And it’s not just my pussy I’ve been thinking about. I want you to use my ass. I’ve been fantasizing about it since the second month I lived here. Letting you stretch me. Letting you have the tightest hole I’ve got.”

The words landed between them and stayed. His cock thickened hard against his shorts. He set his water down so he wouldn’t drop it.

“Say that again,” he said.

“I want your cock in my ass,” Rochelle said, clearer this time, voice low and shaking with how much she meant it. “I’ve never done it with anyone I actually wanted the way I want you. I’ve been working myself open thinking about your thick cock wrecking me. Tonight, if you want it. I want it. I want you to bend me over and take it.”

He was on his feet before he finished hearing her. “Inside. Now.”

They practically raced through the sliding door. The apartment air felt cooler and still too hot. Terrence caught her at the couch and kissed her like he’d been starving, mouth open, tongue deep, one hand fisted in her hair and the other gripping the full curve of her ass through the leggings. She moaned into him and kissed back just as hard, nails scraping his shoulders, hips rolling up so he could feel how eager she was.

“Off,” she gasped against his mouth. “Get this off me.”

He peeled the tank over her head. No bra. Her breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples already tight. He ducked and sucked one into his mouth, tongue flicking, while she shoved his shirt up and off, palms sliding over his chest, his stomach, the line of muscle he kept for a living. Her leggings and panties came down together. He dragged them over her hips, past her thighs, and she kicked them away, bare and glistening, the dark curls between her legs damp, her ass even fuller without the fabric.

Terrence shoved his shorts down. His cock sprang out thick and heavy, flushed dark, a bead of precum already at the tip. Rochelle stared at it and made a broken little sound.

“God, you’re big.” She dropped to her knees on the rug without being asked, hands on his thighs, and looked up at him with her mouth open. “I need to taste you before you ruin me.”

She licked the head, slow and filthy, then took him in, lips stretching, spit slicking him fast. She bobbed, messy and hungry, cheeks hollowing, one hand stroking what she couldn’t swallow while the other cupped his balls. Saliva ran down his shaft and over her chin. She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her mouth to his cock, and stroked him while she begged.

“Please, Terrence. Wreck my ass. I’ve been so empty back there thinking about you. Stretch me open. Pound that tight hole until I can’t sit tomorrow. I want it raw. I want you balls-deep in my ass tonight. Please fuck my ass. Please.”

He groaned, hips jerking into her fist. “You sure? Tell me you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I want it. I consent. I need you in my ass right now.” Her eyes were bright, desperate, completely clear. “Don’t make me wait.”

He hauled her up and kissed the taste of himself off her tongue, then turned her toward the couch. “Bend over. Show me that ass.”

Rochelle folded over the arm, chest down on the cushions, back arched, feet planted. The position shoved her ass up and open for him, round and perfect, the cleft deep, her pussy shiny and swollen underneath. He dropped to his knees behind her and spread her cheeks with both hands. Her asshole was a tight, dusky little ring, clenching as the air hit it.

“Look at this pretty hole,” he said, voice wrecked. “You’ve been hiding this from me for six months.”

“Not hiding,” she panted. “Offering. Eat it. Get me wet enough to take you.”

He leaned in and licked a long stripe from her pussy up over her ass, then settled his mouth on her hole and rimmed her like he meant to live there. His tongue circled, pressed, flattened and lapped, spit dripping down to her cunt. Rochelle cried out and pushed back, one hand reaching blindly to hold herself open for him. He worked his tongue against the tight muscle until it fluttered and gave, then speared in as far as he could, fucking her ass with his mouth while his thumb rubbed slow circles on her clit.

“Oh fuck—Terrence—yes, eat my asshole, get it sloppy—” She was dripping, pussy clenching on nothing, ass shining with his spit. “I’m ready, I’m so ready, please put it in, please stretch me—”

He stood, cock in hand, and pressed the broad head to her spit-slick hole. “Breathe. Push out. Take me.”

She did. He sank in slow, inch by thick inch, watching her asshole stretch obscenely around him. The heat was incredible, tighter than anything, gripping and fluttering as she moaned into the cushion. Halfway she whimpered, and he stopped, rubbing her lower back.

“Too much?”

“No. More. All of it. I want every inch in my ass.”

He fed her the rest until his hips met her cheeks and his balls rested against her soaked pussy. Balls-deep. Buried. Her hole clenched around the base of him like it was trying to keep him.

“Fuck,” he gritted. “You’re swallowing my cock. So tight I can barely move.”

“Move anyway. Wreck it. Fuck my ass.”

He drew back until the head tugged at her rim, then slammed home. She screamed, pleasure-sharp, and shoved back to meet the next thrust. He set a deep, brutal rhythm, doggy-style, hands locked on her hips, pulling her onto every stroke. The couch creaked. Her ass rippled with each impact. Wet sounds filled the room—spit, her arousal, the filthy slap of his hips against her cheeks. He reached under and found her clit, rubbing in time, and she sobbed his name.

“That’s it. Take this cock in your greedy little asshole. You wanted it stretched? Feel how deep I am. Feel me owning this hole.”

“Yes—own it—harder—fuck my ass harder—”

He pounded her until her thighs shook, then pulled out slow so he could see her rim cling and gape for a second before closing. “On your back. I want your face while I ream you.”

He flipped her, dragged her to the edge of the couch, and folded her. Piledriver—legs up over her head, ankles by her ears, ass tilted high and completely exposed, her hole already puffy and shiny from the pounding. He braced one hand beside her head and guided his cock back in, watching her eyes go wide as he sank balls-deep again in one long push.

“There,” he said, starting to thrust, deep and mean, the angle letting him watch every inch disappear into her ass. “Look at me while I fuck this hole. Look at what a desperate anal slut you are for your neighbor.”

Rochelle’s mouth hung open, eyes glassy with pleasure, drool at the corner of her lips. She reached between her thighs and rubbed her clit hard, fingers slipping in her own wetness. “Choke me a little. I want it. Light. While you ream me.”

His hand settled on her throat, not crushing, just firm pressure at the sides, thumb stroking her pulse while he drove into her ass. She could breathe. She nodded, frantic, and he kept the grip exactly there, fucking her in long, brutal strokes that made her whole body jolt.

“Filthy girl,” he growled. “Begging the man across the hall to gape your asshole. You feel that? Every time I pull out your hole tries to suck me back. You’re dripping down my cock. Finger that clit. Scream for it.”

“Fuck my ass—harder—stretch me open—make me your anal whore—Terrence, please, ruin my tight hole, I can feel you in my stomach, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”

He gave her harder. The piledriver let him watch her face contort, watch her tits bounce, watch his thick cock piston into her stretched asshole while she rubbed herself raw. Spit shone on her rim. Her pussy wept onto his shaft. The dirty talk got worse with every thrust, both of them gone, voices breaking.

“Gonna flood this ass,” he snarled, hips snapping. “Gonna pump you so full you leak on the couch. You want my cum in your wrecked hole?”

“Yes—cum in my ass—breed my asshole—I’m gonna—oh fuck I’m—”

Her orgasm hit like a seizure. Rochelle’s eyes rolled, her ass clamped down so hard he saw stars, and she squirted violently, a hot clear gush spraying over his stomach and the cushions while she screamed and fingered herself through it. The rhythmic clench of her hole milked him past the edge. He buried himself to the hilt, hand still light on her throat, and came in thick, pulsing ropes, flooding her ass until he could feel it slick and hot around his cock, overflow squeezing out around his shaft with every last throb.

He stayed inside while she shook, both of them gasping, his grip easing to a caress. When he finally pulled out, her asshole gaped, pink and used, fluttering, and his load welled up and dripped in heavy white strands down to her pussy and the couch. He watched it, chest heaving, one thumb gently spreading her so he could see every pulse push more cum out.

“Jesus, Rochelle. Look at you. Wrecked and dripping.”

She laughed, wrecked and happy, legs trembling as he lowered them. “Carry me. I can’t walk. Shower. Before I pass out on this couch covered in us.”

He gathered her up, cum still leaking down her thigh onto his arm, and carried her to the bathroom. The water came on hot. They stood under it and washed each other slow, gentle now, his soapy hands careful between her cheeks, her forehead against his chest, both of them soft and grinning like idiots.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured into her wet hair. “Round two. I’ll come over after my last client. We’ll do it slower. Then harder. Your ass is mine again.”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, kissing his collarbone. “I’ll be stretched and ready. Don’t you dare cancel.”

The knock hit the apartment door so hard the shower curtain shivered. Three heavy pounds, then a man’s voice, close and angry, right outside.

“Rochelle! Open up. I know he’s in there. I saw his gym bag in the hall. We need to talk about the lease—and about you fucking my trainer. Right now.”

Terrence went still, soap on his hands, her body warm against his. Rochelle’s eyes snapped wide. Neither of them moved. The knock came again, louder, and the voice didn’t leave.