You could hear the woman's strident voice all the way down the corridors of the fifth floor.
"Stop it, you bastard! I told you, I don't do that shit!"
This was followed by the sound of a slap and a man's voice, though his was softly spoken, impossible for Julianne to hear. She put her head against the wall, even as she heard her parents moving about in the other room.
'Dammit, be quiet!' she willed them. This was too exciting! That man, Fareikh, was clearly trying to do
something
to one of the whores he routinely brought back to his apartment, and it sounded like she wanted nothing to do with it. Julianne looked around the room for a glass, as she had seen used, but there was nothing in her bedroom that could help her hear better. Just then her mother knocked on her door.
"Julie? Honey, are you done with the invitations yet? It's almost dinnertime."
Julianne sighed. "Yes, mother," she called, "I sent them out an hour ago." She hesitated, then added, "Jeeze!"
Her mother insisted on a holiday party every year around this time. Grace Beechler had been doing it since Julie was nine or ten. Only now, she delegated to Julie the task of sending out the invites to her list of friends.
'Thank god for email,' Julie thought. She and her father both put up with this part of it, but dreaded the actual night. It would be all of her mother's co-workers and some of their boyfriends and husbands, most of them wishing they were somewhere else. 'Still, tradition and all that,' Julie mused with a grim smile.
She heard what sounded like furniture being shoved around from down the hall, and left her bedroom for the kitchen, where she grabbed a glass from the dish drainer and scooted back into her room. Her door locked again, she put the glass to the wall and her ear against the glass bottom.
'Fuck!' The glass did nothing to enhance whatever was going on in Fareikh's apartment. The few muffled sounds were impossible to hear clearly. Then, the woman's voice erupted with a wail.
"Oh my god!"
Julie slapped the glass back against the wall. 'What the fuck is that freak doing?' she wondered.
The sound stopped as quickly as it had begun. Julianne imagined his hand around the whore's throat as he... what
was
he doing? Her smooth slick thighs moved against each other without her even thinking about it, capturing her little bud in a tight grip. She only became aware of her arousal as her hand slid under the hem of her knit top and across her belly, headed downward.
At eighteen, masturbation wasn't new to Julie. She could feel her clit swelling even now, and knew it would be enveloped in dampness when her fingers contacted it. Still, the almost-electric shock when she did, surprised her. She moaned softly, tracing two fingers around it before sliding further down into the tiny V of her thong panties. They were damp at the bottom, as they always seemed to be. Julianne sighed, letting one finger slip into her moist opening. Her labia parted easily, greedily allowing her probing finger inside. She shivered, stroked her inner lips a couple of times, and pulled her hand free.
'That's all I need,' she thought, 'to get myself all worked up, then have to go out and face my folks at the dinner table!'
"Julie! Dinner!" her mother called, as if sensing the correct moment.
'She does that,' Julie thought, and smiled. Her mom was perfect in so many ways. 'If only throwing a party was one of them,' she thought ruefully. She set the glass down carefully on her bedside table and left her room.
Later that night, she slipped her pajama bottoms off and lay naked from the waist down, pushing the sheet down so she could finish what she'd begun earlier. The whole time at dinner, as her mother prattled on about the coming weekend and her father grunted noncommittally, her mind had been conjuring up thoughts of the hairy middle-Easterner down the hall. She wondered what he looked like naked; what his cock was like. She'd seen videos of uncircumcised men, and was convinced he would be too, as that seemed to be the custom among their people. His lifestyle intrigued her, to be honest. She knew he was a programmer and that he spent a lot of his time working from home. She also knew about the hookers.
'That man must be insatiable!' she thought, as her fingers once again found her dripping crack, and slid smoothly inside. With one finger wet from the fluids she was drooling, she moved that hand up under her pajama top and rubbed it all around her tight left nipple.
"Oooohhhmmm," she softly groaned. She had to be quiet, she knew, but it was getting impossible; her need was overpowering. Julianne Beechler's teenage body was producing massive amounts of oxytocin and estrogen, as it always did just before she ovulated. She didn't rationalize all this out; she just knew her horniness was off the charts. It certainly didn't help when she could hear their fifth-floor neighbor having loud sex with women, right down the hall! Once again, she set her mind to imagining Fareikh, and what his body must look like.
"He's a big hairy bastard," she muttered to herself, and the finger that remained inside her curled upward, lightly scratching the ceiling of her tight hole. This was enough to make her moan again, and she clenched her thighs tightly around her hand, as if restricting her movements was the same as muting her voice. "Ohhhh, fuck! I bet he's covered in hair, like a fuckin' animal." Her voice trembled when she spoke those words, and she flashed briefly on the video of the horses mating she'd seen on youtube. It hadn't lasted long, but the image of the stallion's impossibly long penis stabbing at the mare's vagina had stayed with her. She imagined her finger as the horse's cock, then as Fareikh's. In her mind, it came at her out of a growth of thick black hair, sinking into her with the same fury the stallion had displayed. Two fingers now mirrored the movement she imagined.
"Ohhhhh, fucking yesssss!" she spat, as the first pulse of a rapidly approaching climax made her flex her legs, raising her hips off the bed. "Nnnnngggghhhh" was all she could manage as her pelvic floor muscles tightened in anticipation of the impending orgasm, and her fingertips danced briskly over her throbbing clitoris.
Julie abandoned her breast and grabbed the pillow from under her head with that hand, and slammed it down over her face as she fantasized the man thrusting deeply into her; just in time, as she almost screamed at the vision she had. Her lower body thrust upwards three or four times and she groaned loudly into the pillow, literally displacing her hand from her vagina as she came.
"Mmmmpppphhh!"
At last her writhing ceased, and she collapsed back onto her now-wet bed. Her bare ass felt the clamminess of the sheet below her, but she didn't care. 'Fuck me, that one was huge!' she said to herself. She knew she must be grinning, ear to ear. Kevin, her last boyfriend, had never been able to do that for her, with his clumsy fingers and over-eager fumbling, even after she'd taken the time to show him how to please her. He only seemed to want her mouth on his penis. 'For about thirty seconds,' she giggled to herself, 'then he's done for!' Julie had heard Fareikh go on for more than an hour with his trollops. Again, she briefly imagined the middle-Easterner before taking a deep breath and reaching for tissues, to mop the juices from her thighs.
Julie was a pretty girl, with wavy blonde hair that cascaded down to mid-back. She'd only had one boyfriend, but they'd had sex numerous times, and she considered herself pretty good at giving head. Her excessive wetness often bothered her, but she could never ask her mother about it. She imagined her proper mother saying, "Good girls don't leak" or something similarly embarrassing, so she took extra care to do her own laundry. As an only child, her folks thought it was very mature of the teenager, and often complimented her on taking such initiative. For Julianne Beechler, it was a question of emotional survival.
