Note:
This is the second part of a longer story crossing multiple Literotica genres.
While you could probably read this on its own and suss out most of what's gone on before, it's probably best to start with Chapter One.
Edited, with my sincere thanks, by Azhura.
All characters are over the age of 18.
***
The screaming had gone on for five nights.
Nick and Eileen sat on their couch and - not for the first time, though with a much hornier undercurrent than before - thought about checking in on their upstairs neighbour.
The nice young woman who had lived above them for over a year - Jane (they now knew her name because Eileen had contrived a reason to bump into her in the hallway a couple of days earlier and had introduced herself) - had never been noisy. No parties, no loud music, and no boys (or girls) from what they could tell. So the couple downstairs, who were themselves naturally quiet - maybe a little too quiet, Eileen had reflected on night one of the seeming sexual awakening of the banshee upstairs - had been a little shocked when the sounds of what they assumed was intensely filthy porn had come blaring down through their ceiling.
They had quickly come to realize that it had not been porn.
When Eileen had first met Jane outside their building's mailbox kiosk, she couldn't square the noises she and Nick had been hearing - several times a night, for three nights by that point - with the demure and well-put-together girl in front of her.
Standing about five-foot-two and waif-thin with a bit of visible lean muscle displayed under tight workout clothes, Jane Forster had looked like any other college-aged woman heading out to work, a workout, or for a casual date. Her hair was cute - tight dirty blond waves cut short, framing a face with elfin features and a slightly too large nose - and she wore minimal makeup that made her facial features look just a little more adult than they probably were (Eileen placed her at about twenty, twenty-one at the oldest). The look was capped off by a pair of glasses with light-coloured frames that appeared to have been chosen for cost, not fashion.
Two things had stood out to Eileen and solved the mystery of exactly where the ecstatic - and often outright filthy - moans of pleasure had been coming from.
First, because Jane was inexpert at applying makeup to cover up signs of fatigue, the slight bags under her eyes told a story of a girl who'd not gotten a whole lot of sleep lately.
And second - as Jane walked out the apartment building doors and into the light of day - she had the characteristic strut, Eileen had thought, of a woman who was being well and truly fucked. She had looked sore, but floaty, as though any cares in her life had been left on her mattress.
Eileen had been a little jealous.
Nick and Eileen had once had an amazing sex life. Both of them had been open to a whole host of kinks and had rarely gone a whole day without finding an excuse to peel off their clothes and drown in each other. Their favourite kink had been adding the occasional guest star to their master/slave play, both men holding Eileen down and using her in every way a person can be used sexually.
But over time the business of middle age had set in. Both were in their forties now with successful careers, friends, and hobbies and, worse than that, they'd unlearned the art of objectifying each other. When they did have sex now, it was sweet and fast and devoid of the heat they used to have for one another.
There was heat coming from above their heads that night, however. Lots of it. The kind that consumes.
Nick was laying back on the couch, phone in one hand, and wearing only a t-shirt and boxers, while Eileen curled up in the corner opposite him, trying to tune out the sounds of passionate moaning and focus on the tv. Both were beyond distracted by the noises coming from upstairs; rhythmic slapping of skin - hard and frantic - the scratching of a bed moving across a wood floor and, most of all, the sounds of Jane howling as someone used her to make themself cum.
Eileen glanced over at her husband and found herself getting turned on as she saw him absently stroking his hard dick through his shorts. A drop of moisture from the head of his cock stained the cotton and Eileen felt the crotch of her pyjamas get damp in response.
Fuck
, she thought,
he's still so sexy
.
Why do I never notice how sexy he is?
Nick had always been what most straight women would consider aggressively attractive. Now forty-two, he still had all his hair - jet-black and wavy, only slight touches of grey at the temples - and constant cycling, running, and quick bouts of pushups on every trip to the bathroom or kitchen had given him a lean body, densely packed with muscle. Nick wasn't a vain man, or all that concerned about his health, but he had an enormous appetite - for food now, as it once had been for sex - and he maintained his activity levels because he didn't want the consequences of that appetite to show on his body.
Why am I not fucking this man three times a day, every day?
Eileen wondered.
Eileen, by contrast, was more cute than effortlessly hot, but she hadn't invested the same degree of self-care time that Nick had. Eileen was soft and curvy - round bum, c-cup breasts with only a bit of sag and just a bit of adorable extra flesh all over - no one would ever call her fat, but she thought the word "voluptuous" had been coined to describe her body specifically and she wore it as a badge of honour.
Nick caught her glancing at his crotch and stopped his idle stroking - a sheepish grin spreading on his face. He glanced at the ceiling apologetically, and they both absorbed for a moment the sound of muffled screaming - it sounded like Jane's mouth was being fucked hard.
Eileen said nothing but adjusted her body so she was facing Nick, and then she slid a hand under the waistband of her pyjamas and leaned her head back against the couch cushions.
Eyes firmly on his wife, but ears drawn to the eroticism happening a few feet above him, Nick quickly stood and pulled his boxers down and moved toward Eileen.
As she slowly teased her pussy, Eileen felt Nick approach and lifted her head to meet his gaze. She held up the hand that wasn't rubbing light circles over her slippery clit; a plea for Nick to stop.
"No," she said. "I want to watch."
Nick sat back down on his end of the couch and stretched his legs out, staring at his wife as he began stroking his cock slowly. He'd always loved watching Eileen play with herself and it had been years since he'd experienced this in a way more inNickate than hearing her quietly getting herself off beside him in bed on nights when he was too tired to help.
It had once been a rule in their submission play that she had to do this on command whenever it suited him because the sight of her frantically chasing an orgasm with fingers or a toy drove him insane. This turnabout - Eileen being as invested in watching him as she was in getting herself off - was a fun new twist on an old game.
Eileen stared as Nick's hand slid up and down his hard dick and she fingered her slit urgently, barely aware of an involuntary keening noise escaping her lips as her need grew. The sight of pre-cum leaking from the tip of Nick's cock, combined with the sounds of Jane being fucked, had Eileen in a state of arousal that was way past the "Wouldn't it be nice to have some sex?" place. She needed to be filled and used and to join her howls of pleasure to those of the girl upstairs.
A particularly loud sound from upstairs - as though something was both pounding on and being dragged across the floor - drew Eileen's attention away from Nick's cock, and she glanced at the ceiling above.
Is he trying to see if he can fuck her straight through the floor?
