Amber's First Apartment

First night ever in my very own apartment an older man opened my unlocked door and pulled his cock out. Shocked by the sudden apparition, I didn't scream.

Normally, I would have screamed. But within a second, as unexpected as it was, I thought I recognized him. Or his silhouette, anyway. It wasn't too dark but him being this radically out of place disrupted my immediate recall. Holding his cock hanging out in the shared hallway on my floor, he started telling me to suck it. It was so absurd, so out of place, and yet so very familiar. The tinge of fear I previously registered started subsiding.

"What are you doing here??" I demanded.

My boyfriend left a few minutes ago after helping me bring last of my moving boxes in. It was late, near to ten o'clock. Far too late to be an appropriate time to visit, let alone by a pervert. The tiny place I moved into was fully furnished by a single IKEA purchase but I wasn't unpacked yet except for a couch and a mostly assembled bed. Earlier, the delivery men grumbled hard after asking "Where's the service elevator?" to which I shook my head sadly.

My place was on the third floor in a historic downtown building; it wasn't the biggest studio apartment but the location was great and it was affordable. I hadn't hung up any art yet except for a 16th century tapestry map of the world I was attached to, a crude reproduction bought cheaply at Rennfest. It pleased me for some reason.

"C'mon Amber, suck daddy's cock, no one can walk in on us now," he insisted.

I stood my ground, "I told you I wouldn't do that anymore."

He obviously wasn't my real daddy. Not so obviously, I'd been fucking him for years. Handful of my distracted brain cells recognized him as our next door neighbor, actually now my parents' neighbor, who was also a very good friend of the family.

He persisted, "Don't keep me waiting baby, you know you wanna suck it."

So no, I didn't scream because I knew him. He tempted me by wiggling his cock with his fist, or thought he was. From past times, I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer so instead of screaming I dropped to my knees in front of my open door and started licking his cock with practiced fervor. He was right, no one would walk in on us and that was a novel feeling, my first such use of the apartment. The initial surprise of his visit developed a knot deep in the pit of my stomach but it was resolving slowly, replaced by anticipation of a bad habit.

It wasn't my first time to blow him, not by a longshot. Oh no. But it was the first time where we had all the time in the world and no one would come to rescue me this time. No one to save me from him. No time limit, no reason to keep it brief. Though I neither invited him over nor wanted him to be here, I had never had my own apartment before and the tempting opportunity to exercise privacy in my own home presented itself. This was my life now, I thought, mine to live it as I pleased. So I sucked and he lazily closed the door behind him.

"This is the last time I'm doing this," I told him halfheartedly between slurping. It had been two years since I'd seen him last, since I broke off our inappropriate trysts and went off to college.

Inexplicably, everyone in my old neighborhood called him Daddy Mike, including my mom and me. He had custom license plates on his truck with that name stamped in by a nameless prisoner paid 14 cents an hour, a crude factoid he always repeated at parties. He and his wife were really close to our family and we ended up spending lots of time over at their house and vice-versa.

When my tits budded into being and evil hormones flared into existence I was already eighteen, a late bloomer, both late to start my grade and too preoccupied with sports and art to date boys. The surprise hormones burned everything in their wake trying to catch up, eventually trapping me in a situation I didn't like.

Several summers ago I was in my first memorable heat. It's really difficult to describe but all I could think about was boys. I mean, after a few flattering words from an older neighbor at their standing weekly barbecue I was regularly leaving snail marks on Daddy Mike's leather couch. That bad.

That summer I started masturbating like a champ, and yet it sated nothing. Instead, the animal hunger for sex developed sharp teeth and I was dangerous to be around, like a cute predator disturbingly unaware of her own lethality. When I accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom I stared way too long like a creep, even going so far as to touch my private parts momentarily. Daddy Mike pretended he didn't see me but he had to have known. The goddamned door creaked, after all.

Uncounted seconds later I said "sorry" and closed the door behind me.

I could've kept my mouth shut, but I didn't. No, I announced myself and I wasn't in a hurry to duck out. Next time we were alone he broke the ice and joked he'd have to charge me for future shows. My blush and nervousness was all I could respond with. He wasn't all that attractive but the sight of his cock got etched in my memory and it wouldn't escape me. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, and yet instead I stupidly engaged in the conversation and said I didn't have an allowance. He offered to give me one and it gave me unpleasant chills. Things went south from there. Later at home I nearly broke my wrist off playing with myself, aggravating a stubborn tournament injury.

That was then.

Now, things were very different. Relatively speaking, I was a grown woman. Daddy Mike worked in the city and commuted from the suburbs and his wife would be expecting him home soon, but he didn't seem to particularly care about being late.

He grabbed me by the hair like he owned me and walked me to my brand new couch. His cock was an average length, but very thick at the base, and it was a chore to get it in deep. He sat down like he owned the place, his weight breaking the faux leather in and guided me by my hair to suck his cock. It was so quiet, so ominous. All that could be heard was my slurping noises and the fridge compressor sporadically competing with me to break the silence. My new reality. Sound was absurdly all on or off, minutes of all spooky quiet or minutes of all loudness, nothing in between.

While out of practice, my mouth and my good hand still picked up a steady pace, product of rote behavior throughout the years. He reached down into my pants and felt me up and then annoyed me with his predictability.

"You need to shave for me," he ordered.

He took his time enjoying me on my knees. When he got close to orgasming he got really aggressive, putting his legs on my shoulders and wrapping them around my neck, forcing his cock deep in my throat or trying to anyway. It startled me that he would take such liberties with my body. Did I cause that by saying this would be the last time? Was he pushy all of a sudden, knowing he wouldn't get to again, or was it caused by being in my place? I couldn't breathe and I kept choking and spitting and drooling out of everywhere. My concentration was breaking down. Finally, I escaped the position and nearly cried gasping for air.

"Alright, we'll try that some other time," he mercifully released me from that hold and let me finish him off on my brand new bed.

That one summer when I first started blowing him, he was gentle. In fact, it was very much seductive. Everything was new to me, and fun. They had an inground pool, not the cheap redneck above-ground kind, and mom and me went swimming there often. Mom and I, rather. Our family, being that close to them, had a standing invitation. Occasionally the two of us, me and Daddy Mike that is, found ourselves alone in a room or their garage, or the basement. At first he started touching me and it felt sleazy even though I liked it; I was conflicted. Even though I knew it was wrong I couldn't say no due to my hormones generally confusing me.

When the touching eventually turned into steady groping I didn't want to say no. The newfound horniness was omnipresent. And curiosity was there too. My short skirts and bikinis sent him an invitation during our stolen moments - he always liked me wearing girly things, things I spent hours and days finding and trying to sneak through mom's purchases. Combination of arousal and fear of being blamed for inviting the touching kept me silent.

When he finally let me touch my first cock, I got a really close look and wondered what took me so long to put my mouth on it. It was so much work minding the teeth at first but I got better at it quickly.

Soon he let me practice regularly on him after school, and I was very enthusiastic to learn indeed. His inappropriate promise of an allowance came through unwelcomly and made me feel ever so uncomfortable. He started leaving me money so I could buy exciting underwear, he said. It was flattering but it made me feel like he was buying my willingness. It cheapened me, it cheapened my experience. The amounts gradually increased and he was insistent on me getting dirty things I was too shy to ever wear. Things like elaborate underwear and thigh highs and corsets and things he couldn't articulate. Since anything but oral was too fast for my psyche, I really wasn't into the idea.

The clothes he wanted me to wear were obscene, I could never. Without telling him, I spent most of the money on other things I wanted.

After that summer I met boys and showed them what I learned. It was received poorly, I thought. Bare minutes of my warm mouth, a squirt of semen and the dates were over. Minutes in the front seat, minutes in the movie theatre's back row, minutes anywhere, and I'd get driven home. Was I doing something wrong? Did I move too fast, I wondered? It caused me to become insecure with my age-appropriate relationships. At the time I didn't know better but back then it felt like a physical rejection, a failure.

At any rate, it felt much more gratifying that daddy lasted longer so I went back crawling to him, begging for his cock between boys. It was pitiful.

Many, many years later a very particular word came to me: overkill. Being inexperienced, boys my age just couldn't last as long as Daddy Mike did, but I didn't know why at the time. I had wrongly assumed I was doing something wrong, but basically my oral talents were wholly wasted on them.

The "allowance" amounts increased and I had a tough time hiding the fact I was spending it elsewhere, like on dates with boys. By end of that first summer, I had to show some progress so I bought my first pair of thigh highs from Target and a most outrageous camisole and ruby red heels to go with them. With a $4 lipstick on discount, none of the colors coordinated, but it got Daddy so hard anyway. As insecure as I felt wearing this ridiculous outfit for him, I came to appreciate it because he could last getting blown and he praised my looks the whole time.

After my cherry got popped by a boy my age, I ran into the same issue of him lasting mere minutes. It happened with another boy, and then another, and another few. It was demoralizing. Some of them said they hated condoms and faulted them, but that didn't sound right to me and I felt I was doing something wrong. Maybe I was too sexually forward. My relationships didn't last very long as they mimicked an accelerated tour of back seats.

When I found out daddy was snipped, I felt relieved because I could fuck him without worrying about getting pregnant. First time he stuck it in me, I felt ... greedy. Oh yes, it was mine. His big fat cock was mine and he lasted much longer than minutes. He had a wife and he still found me more attractive, it was flattering. Every time I ran into her I got horny thinking about it.

He appreciated my few new outfits and I conversely liked him fucking me much better than boys my age. He knew what he was doing, and by contrast it sure felt like it. By the end of the summer, I knew the grain of his cock by memory. However, he also got rough and demanding and I didn't like that part. He wanted me to shave my pussy and after weeks of nagging I did it just for him and then had to put up with razor burns. My hormonal streak was winding down and so when I tried to break it off he threatened to tell my mom.

Because I was sure it would devastate her to find out just how I was misbehaving - especially considering how close she was to him and his wife - I kept letting him fuck me, and I kept shaving my pussy for him though I hated it. This went on for years during my time at the community college but I deliberately tapered it off, making sure we weren't left alone as often. When he caught me by myself, I was always resigned to put out. Either way, enthusiasm in sex with him wore out steeply.

Soon I transferred to a University, moving into a dorm and breaking out on my own. Without anyone else knowing about it, I was also breaking out from this inappropriate relationship for good. But after a couple of years I failed and dropped out; rather than move back home I broke out on my own again in this apartment, my first without roommates.

The time apart and the distance between us should have been enough, but to my dismay he was now in my escape room and I couldn't get out of it because it was mine. Who buzzed him in the building anyway, I wondered? I'd have to remind my boyfriend to make sure the antiquated front door latched entirely on the way out from now on. How did Daddy Mike know where I lived anyway? Did my mom tell him?

All this went through my head as I made slow but deliberate slurping noises because I was mildly horny and it had been awhile since I let anyone touch me.

He leaned back in the bare mattress as I straddled one of his big legs and watched me intently as I worked my mouth up and down on his cock. My breathing pattern was all I could focus on. Well that, and sliding my lips over his meat. It was hypnotic and I knew I would do it patiently until he was finished, mind now empty of all thoughts. For an hour if I had to. Just like a hundred times before.

After twenty long minutes he came without warning. It tasted very familiar, sticky and flavored as I remembered it. I swallowed it all and sat down on the bed, feeling exhausted but oddly satisfied, like I was useful. The after-school kind of useful, I thought. Memory of the early days made my pussy twitch and my jaw felt very tired. He got dressed and put his dirty boot on my mattress as he laced it up.

"Amber, you good?" he asked me and I nodded silently.

"That was good," he said and walked out after kissing the top of my head. With the taste of his cum still in my mouth I leaned back and masturbated until I came. Sleep came even faster.

The next day I started my new job, waitressing at a hip new place few blocks away called the Coal Mine. The dress code was a bit merciless to my budget but mom took me shopping and I bought lots of short black dresses and skirt sets with her credit card to last me a year. Afterwards, I maxed out my own card when she wasn't around on clothing she didn't think I needed. Since there was no commute and the loose assurance of patrons giving ample tips was promising, I figured I'd make it work on the cheap. Most of my shifts were evening and late nights, when it paid the best and I counted on that.

Week into my new job I had to take a Saturday morning shift. As I was nibbling on a toasted bagel during brief moments of downtime I checked my phone to see what my boyfriend was up to after work. Randomly I got a text message from Daddy Mike.

It was short, "drvn thru in 20 mins," he wrote. Jesus, the nerve. Didn't he hear me tell him it was the last time? My legs were twitchy, and I was crossing and uncrossing them fast on the stool. The movement jolted a feeling between my legs.

"Can I take my lunch break in twenty?" I asked my manager absently, who instantly nodded a yes. I had no idea why I was doing it.

Weirdly, I wasn't horny. But I was horny for him to get off, if that made any sense. It was so obvious what he wanted and I was a bit out of practice. He wanted my pussy. I mean, I could have told him I was on campus or something, he didn't know I dropped out, or did he? Or I could have not replied. But no, he rang his Pavlovian bell and it got me wet. Walking the three blocks took longer than it should because of brunch traffic. Since my apartment was on the top floor, I waited outside.

As minutes went by I looked around and realized I was standing on hundred-year-old chamfered hex tiles, the kind they don't have replacements for anymore. One corner of a tile had chipped off and someone had lazily filled the gap in with improperly mixed mortar. It pleased me to see it because as sloppily as that was done, it meant that all broken things could get fixed. Maybe I'd try finishing school after a break.

Halfway through waiting I went inside and rejected an unwelcome idea of shaving my pussy. By the time my whole lunch hour expired I still got no word.

Being stood up and the bitter realization of its insult made me into a fool. Why did I wait so long for him? Why did I agree to meet him in the first place, and why was I going to let him fuck me just because he wanted to? Fuck, why did I even blow him the other night? Our age difference was disgusting and I got no pleasure out of any of this. I'd even overlooked how he threatened to tell my mom about us years back and resolved not to forget again.

Mad at myself, I walked back to work and finished the day. My manager gave me a mild rebuke when I returned late to my shift.

That evening, my boyfriend took me out to a fun pizza place with outdoor seating and we had a great time. We made out at my place, but I didn't want to go too fast so all he got was a handful of titty just over my shirt. Growing a decent relationship was an undeveloped stage of my life and I wanted to enjoy every moment of it after years of being promiscuous.

About the same time next week I got off work early and Daddy Mike was already waiting by the building, completely unannounced. It startled me and my lips puckered up, thinking how I'd tell him off. But for what, I wondered? For showing up, or for standing me up last week? How long had he been waiting there? While I debated these points I felt uncomfortable being seen with him, even though I was new in the neighborhood. We looked so disparate, I didn't want anyone to see us together and think I was a hooker meeting a middle aged man for a nooner. He was a tall older man and I was a young mouseketeer by comparison.

"Don't have much time," he explained.

Deciding to rebuke him inside and then send him home, I rushed through unlocking the building door and getting us through it. The door was obscenely loud as it slammed behind us, trumpeting guilt to the paranoid me. His visit looked so shady and the thought of it being seen by someone shamed me. Since I still hadn't figured out what to tell him, I started walking up my three flights of stairs composing my arguments. By the first landing turn I gave up on telling him off.

He kept groping me from behind and by the time we got inside my apartment I had a pretty good idea what he wanted today so wordlessly I bent over my unmade bed and assumed he'd fuck me.

It had been two years since he last fucked me, and almost a year since I deliberately parked my twisted sex life to focus on failing academics. But instead of plowing me, he got entirely naked and then sat back on the bed leaning against a wall and invited me to blow him again. While I did that, he reached under my dress and when he found out I wasn't shaven yet, he tried crudely fingering my asshole through my panties.

It felt very uncomfortable and I tried squirming out of it but his hand chased me around. Letting it happen, I was sure I didn't like it when he got an entire fingertip of my underwear pressed inside my butthole. Again I focused on nothing but sliding my mouth up and down on his cock and feeling the texture of my lips sliding over the contour of his meat. Time was in his hands and I preferred compulsive behavior over dealing with new things. Thankfully he was done soon.