My Cute Oriental Neighbor Wants My Huge Cock and Double Fists

Theo heard her heels before he saw her. Twenty-eight, six-three, and still in the gray tee he’d thrown on after the gym, he was halfway down the third-floor hallway with a grocery bag cutting into his forearm when the stairwell door opened and Camila stepped out. Twenty-four, petite, Filipina, and dressed like she’d come straight from the office and then decided the office could wait. The black blouse was unbuttoned low enough that the heavy swell of her tits shifted with every step. The skirt stopped high on her thighs. She saw him and slowed, and the smile she gave him was the same one she’d been giving him for weeks—bright, pretty, and nowhere near innocent.

“Theo,” she said, voice light, eyes traveling the length of him the way they always did. “You always look like you just finished breaking something.”

“Weights,” he said. “Nothing that interesting.”

She stopped close enough that he caught her perfume, something warm and sweet under the leftover scent of copy paper and the building’s old carpet. Her tits were ridiculous on a frame that small—full, heavy, pressing the thin fabric until the buttons looked strained. He’d noticed the first week she moved in. He’d tried not to stare. She had made that impossible.

“You live right there,” she said, nodding at his door, as if either of them needed the reminder. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Not in the hall, though. People listen.”

For three weeks she had been dropping hints like she wanted him to trip over them. Low tops when she took the trash out. A laugh that lasted too long when he held the elevator. Once she’d brushed his arm in the laundry room and said, almost to herself, that a man built like him probably didn’t know what to do with a girl who could take it. He’d gone home hard and told himself she was just flirty. Tonight her gaze didn’t leave his mouth.

“Ask,” he said.

“Come over. One drink. I bought the good whiskey and I’m not drinking it alone.” She tipped her head toward her door, two down from his. “Unless you’re busy being tall and muscular in private.”

He wasn’t busy. He followed her.

Her apartment was smaller than his and warmer, lamps instead of overhead light, a couch that looked soft enough to ruin. She kicked her heels off and went to the kitchen in bare feet, hips swaying under the short skirt. Theo set his groceries by the door and stayed standing until she came back with two short glasses. She handed him one. He took a sip to be polite and set it on the coffee table. She did the same. Neither of them was here to get drunk.

“Sit,” she said.

He sat. She didn’t take the far cushion. She took the one beside him and turned so her knee touched his thigh, then stayed there like she’d planned the contact.

“You’ve been looking,” she said.

“You’ve been making it easy.”

“Good.” Her smile went sharper. “I wanted you looking. I wanted you thinking about these.” She glanced down at her chest, unashamed. “They’re heavy. They ache when I walk past you and pretend I’m just saying hi. And I wanted you thinking about the rest of me, because I’ve been thinking about you. Your height. Your arms. That cock you’ve been trying not to adjust every time I wear this skirt.”

Heat climbed his neck. He didn’t deny it. “Camila.”

“I’m twenty-four. I have a job, a lease, and a very clear idea of what I want from the man next door.” She leaned in until her breath touched his jaw. “I want to fuck your huge cock. I’ve wanted it since the second week, when you carried my boxes and your shirt stuck to your stomach. And I want more than that. I want you to double fist fuck me. Both hands. Deep. I can take it. I’ve been practicing on myself and it isn’t enough, because my hands are small and yours aren’t.”

The words landed between them, blunt and hungry. Theo’s pulse kicked hard. He searched her face for a joke and found none. Her eyes were dark and steady, lips parted, chest rising fast.

“Say it again,” he said, because he needed to hear the want without any fog in it. “All of it. So I know you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She put her hand on his thigh, high, and squeezed. “I want you to fuck me with that huge cock. I want it rough. And I want both of your fists in my pussy, Theo. Not someday. Tonight. If you want me too.”

“I want you,” he said. “I’ve wanted you every time you smiled at me in that hallway. But we go at your pace. You tell me if it’s too much. You tell me to stop and I stop. Deal?”

“Deal.” She climbed into his lap without waiting, skirt riding up, and kissed him like she’d been holding the kiss in her mouth for weeks.

She tasted like the sip of whiskey and something sweeter. Theo’s hands found her waist, then her ass, then the warm bare skin above her panties when the skirt bunched. She ground down on the thick ridge of his cock through his pants and made a small, wrecked sound against his mouth.

“God, you’re already hard,” she whispered. “Take my clothes off. I want your hands on my tits before you put them anywhere else.”

He stood with her still wrapped around him, carried her three steps, and set her on her feet by the couch. The blouse came open under his fingers. No bra. Her tits spilled free, heavy and warm, dark nipples already tight. He groaned and filled his hands with them, lifting, squeezing, watching them overflow his palms. She arched into it, head tipping back.

“Yes. Like that. They’re sensitive. Suck them.”

He bent and took one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling, then sucking hard enough to make her gasp. His other hand worked the opposite breast, thumb dragging over the peak, palm supporting the weight. She clutched his hair and pushed her chest into his face, moaning when he switched sides and left the first nipple wet and shining. He kissed the undersides, the deep crease where they met, the soft skin that smelled like her lotion. She was panting by the time he straightened.

“Skirt,” she said. “Panties. I don’t want anything between your cock and me.”

He unzipped the skirt and shoved it down. The panties were pale and already damp at the center. He hooked them and drew them down her thighs, kneeling as he did it, and the sight of her bare pussy made his mouth go dry. Neat, swollen, glistening. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and felt her shake.

“Bed,” he said. “I’m not fucking you on a couch the first time. I want room.”

She took his hand and pulled him down the short hall. Her bedroom was neat, sheets turned down like she’d hoped. She climbed onto the mattress and lay back, tits spreading, knees opening. Theo stripped his shirt, then his pants, then his briefs. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, the head already wet. Camila’s eyes went wide and hungry.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “That’s exactly what I thought. Huge. Come here. I need it in me.”

He knelt between her legs and rubbed the head along her slit, coating himself in her slick. She was soaked. He pushed in slow, watching her face, and the tight heat of her pussy gripped him inch by inch until he was buried to the base. She cried out, nails in his shoulders, legs locking around his hips.

“Oh my God. Theo. You’re stretching me. Don’t stop. Fuck me.”

He drew back and thrust in again, deeper, the wet sound of it filling the room. Missionary let him watch her tits bounce with every stroke. He braced one hand by her head and used the other to hold a breast, pinching the nipple while he pounded into her. She took it, moaning his name, telling him harder, telling him she could feel every inch of his huge cock rearranging her. He gave her harder. The bed knocked the wall. Her pussy clenched and fluttered around him, ridiculously tight for how wet she was, and the slap of his hips against her thighs turned steady and rough.

“Look at you,” he said, voice low. “Cute little neighbor taking all of it. You wanted this in the hallway, didn’t you? Walking around with those big tits out, hoping I’d come ruin this pussy.”

“Yes.” She laughed, breathless, wrecked. “Yes. I wanted you to see me and lose it. Faster. Please.”

He fucked her faster, grinding deep on each stroke so his cock dragged over the spot that made her eyes roll. She came the first time with a sharp cry, back arching, pussy pulsing around him so hard he had to grit his teeth to keep from finishing. He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried and let her shake through it, kissing her mouth, her throat, the tops of her tits, until the tremors eased and she was pushing at his chest.

“Doggy,” she gasped. “I want it from behind. I want you deep enough I forget my own name.”

He pulled out, cock shining, and she rolled onto her hands and knees without being asked. The view was obscene—her ass up, her pussy swollen and open, her heavy tits hanging and swaying when she looked back over her shoulder. Theo gripped her hips and sank into her in one long thrust. She screamed into the pillow and shoved back to meet him.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Use me. That cock—God, Theo, pound me.”

He did. Hands tight on her waist, he drove into her, watching his cock disappear into her tight cunt over and over. Her ass clapped against his stomach. Her tits swung. She reached under herself and rubbed her clit, moaning filth, telling him she was his neighbor slut for the night, telling him not to be gentle. He wasn’t. He fucked her until her arms gave and her chest dropped to the mattress, ass still high, and she came again with a broken sob, squirting a hot little rush down his balls. He slowed, breathing hard, still hard, still inside her.

“You still want the rest?” he asked, because the asking mattered more than the ache in his cock. “Both fists. We can stop at my cock. I’ll come in you and call it perfect.”

She turned her face, hair stuck to her cheek, eyes blown and certain. “I want both. I told you. Lube’s in the drawer. Go slow at the start, then don’t. I want to feel your fists fuck me until I scream.”

He pulled out carefully. She rolled onto her back again, legs spread wide, chest heaving. Theo found the bottle, warmed a generous amount between his palms, and slicked his right hand until it gleamed. He kissed the inside of her knee.

“One first,” he said. “You breathe. You talk to me.”

“I will. Put it in.”

Two fingers slid in easily after his cock. Three made her sigh. Four, tucked, and she bore down, opening for him with a low moan that went straight to his gut. He added more lube, pressed his thumb in alongside, and worked his hand in slow circles until her pussy stretched around the widest part of his knuckles. She grabbed her own tits and squeezed, nodding frantically.

“In. All the way. I can take your fist.”

He pushed. There was resistance, then a wet give, and his hand sank into her to the wrist. Camila shouted, not in pain—he watched her face and saw only shock and pleasure—and her cunt clenched around his forearm like it meant to keep him. He held still, letting her adjust, thumb stroking her clit with his free hand.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “You’re in me. Move. Please move.”

He pumped his fist in shallow, careful strokes, then deeper when she begged for it, the lube and her slick making obscene sounds. Her belly tightened. Her tits bounced with each push. She came with his fist buried, squirting hard around his wrist, soaking the sheet, crying his name like a prayer and a demand. He didn’t stop until she grabbed his arm and gasped that she needed the other one.

More lube. He worked his left hand in beside the first, patient, stretching her gradually while she panted and nodded and told him yes, yes, both, she wanted to be full of him. It took time. It took her bearing down and him easing, turning, slicking, listening. When both fists were inside her, wrists crossed, her pussy stretched impossibly around them, she went rigid and then shattered. The orgasm ripped through her. She squirted again, thighs shaking, voice breaking into a scream that the pillow only half caught. Theo pumped both fists in a slow, deep rhythm, feeling her flutter and gush, watching her huge tits heave, filthy and gorgeous and completely present.

“Too much?” he asked, still moving.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she sobbed, laughing through it. “Fuck me with them. God, Theo, I’m coming again—”

She did. He kept the rhythm until her hand slapped his shoulder, not to end it forever but to change it. “Cock,” she gasped. “Now. I need you back inside. I need to feel you fuck what you just opened.”

He eased both hands free, careful, and she whimpered at the emptiness. He wiped his hands on a towel from the nightstand, slicked his cock, and pushed into her again. She was softer, wetter, still tight enough to make him curse. He fucked her in long, pounding strokes, missionary so he could kiss her, then pulled her to the edge of the bed and stood, holding her legs wide, driving into her while she clawed the sheets. She asked for deeper. He gave it. She asked him to tell her how she looked. He told her she looked ruined and perfect, his cute neighbor split open on his cock, tits bouncing, pussy greedy.

When his control frayed he slowed. She pushed him onto his back and climbed on.

“My turn,” she said, voice hoarse and happy. “I’m riding this huge cock until you fill me. That’s how we finish. I want your cum in me. I’m on birth control. I want it.”

“Then take it,” he said.

She sank down and they both groaned. She rode him hard, palms on his chest, heavy tits swaying in his face until he caught one in his mouth and sucked while she bounced. The wet slap of her ass on his thighs filled the room. She ground her clit against him on every downstroke, chasing one more peak, and when it hit she clenched so hard around him that he lost the fight. He gripped her hips and thrust up, burying himself, and came in thick pulses, flooding her pussy while she moaned and kept moving, milking him, smiling like she’d won something she’d been hunting for weeks.

They stayed locked together until the aftershocks faded. She collapsed onto his chest, sweaty, laughing softly against his neck. His cock softened inside her. Cum leaked warm between them. Neither of them moved to fix the sheets.

“Still with me?” he asked.

“Barely.” She kissed his collarbone. “That was better than every hint I dropped. Your cock. Your fists. All of it.”

He stroked her back, feeling the fine tremor still running through her. “You were incredible. And clear. I liked that you just said it.”

“I’m going to keep saying it.” She lifted her head, hair a mess, eyes bright, satisfied down to the bone. “No strings. No boyfriend talk. No weirdness in the hallway unless we want weirdness in the hallway. You come over, or I come over, and we do this again. Your huge cock. My tits in your mouth. Your fists when I ask for them. Regular. Whenever we’re both home and horny.”

“That’s the arrangement?”

“That’s the arrangement.” She smiled, small and filthy. “Neighbor with benefits. The wild kind. You in?”

“I’m in.” He kissed her, slow this time, tasting sweat and the last of her moans. “Next time you wear that skirt in the hall, I’m not pretending I don’t know what’s under it.”

“Good,” Camila said, and settled against him like she planned to stay until the cum dried and they both wanted to start over. “Then we’re going to be very bad neighbors.”