Sunday and Monday were my nominal weekends, my consecutive days off from tending bar at the Sweet Spot. Since Harmony moved in six weeks earlier, I often spent part of one or both of these days and many nights fucking her.
We were friends and neighbors but first and foremost we were fuck buddies.
Often when the telephone in my apartment rang, I answered and heard Harmony's sultry voice sounding like honey tastes. Her voice as intimate as a priest's penance to a penitent, its timbre, its texture, and its temperature tickled my ear trickled directly to my dick and always summoned an erection with an astonishing swiftness.
"Dwight, come over, I will suck your cock and then you can fuck me."
I knew of at least four men my age fucking her regularly and yet she continued to fuck me as though she had gone without sex for months.
The first time she called, three days after she moved in, I answered on the second ring.
"Dwight, I am sitting here playing with my pussy, my fingers are tired but I still have an itch. Can you come over and give me some relief?"
"Be there in ten seconds," I said as I wiped shaving cream from my jaw. Bare chested, bare foot, wearing blue jeans buckled with a worn black leather belt, I dropped the telephone in its cradle, took several steps from my place, felt the hemp welcome mat in front of her door under my heels and toes, knocked on the door and rang the door bell simultaneously.
Harmony opened the door. She was attired in a balconet bra and thong pale pink in color, thigh high hosiery polished looking yet the same hue of pink as her bra and thong. She teetered on four inch hot pink pumps, fuck me pumps. Her full and firm breasts thrusting from the bra's cups displayed an abundance of cleavage worthy of an 18th century French courtesan.
The perfection of her legs, her tits popping from the bra, the high heels and the thong, a sliver of fabric covering her pudenda and strung through the cleft between the globes of her butt, presented such a prurient picture I found it difficult not to fuck her in the apartment door way.
A buxom woman in fuck me pumps always the stuff of my masturbatory fantasies and now next door no fantasy but a real woman of insatiable desire and unquenchable hunger for cock in general, my cock in particular.
I entered her apartment and noticed everything was in its place and there was a place for everything. Not one cardboard container anywhere, no wrapping paper, no slivers of tape left on the floor, no rectangular depressions in the carpet from the impression of heavy boxes. Grinning, she backed up as I approached her, silently said "fuck me" as she settled on the sofa, leaned back, and inserted her right hand under the thong.
My cock prodded the front of my Levis. Hastily, as though something nasty was crawling across my ass and needed to be removed immediately if not sooner, I unzipped and unbuckled, pushed the jeans toward my knees, grabbed at my erection, enjoyed its hardness, its satiny texture in the palm of my left hand, stroked it between my thumb and index finger as I watched the three middle fingers of Harmony's right hand busily toiling in the cleft between her legs.
"A young man, 22 or 23, named Tim spent all night fucking me. He had a sweet little cow lick in his blond hair, a deep notch in his chin like Kirk Douglas and a cock the diameter of a beer can, I am full of his semen and I still want more cock." She removed her hand from her slit, showed me her wetness, the fluid of Tim Beer Can's semen soaking her fingertips. "I am such a slut, a whore, a nymphomaniac."
"No, no, no. You are just highly sexed and I love it," I said. I did not say I felt sorry for her pain. Being such a self centered ass hole, my sympathy did not stop me from wanting to fuck her.
By the time the word "it" emerged from my mouth, I had yanked the thong off Harmony, tossed her legs back, and socketed myself into her pussy, my cock tearing into the trove so recently visited by Tim, the cow-licked, notched chin fuck buddy with the huge tool.
Her wetness, the surfeit of Tim's sperm bubbling from her twat enveloped my cock. I pushed into her, the pressure of my loins nudging against the hard surface of her pubic ridge. My hands found purchase on her calves, their satin texture, and the strength of the muscles under the smooth skin noticeable to my touch. Ripping into her, a quick lunging movement, I started moving in and out of her in a steady rhythm. As I fucked Harmony, I enjoyed the view of her bust barely contained on the lacey shelf of the bra, the flat expanse of her tummy, the indentation of her belly button holding a tiny sparkling diamond.
No doubt wetness spilling from her womb made an irregular shaped smudge on the sofa cushion. Harmony's lithe body flowed across the sofa like a lazily constructed fallen on its back C. Curls of her blond hair fell across her face, a strand here, a strand there touching her cheek, the corner of her painted mouth. Her hips nearly off the front of the sofa, she held her legs high in the air, supporting them with her slim arms, the rest of her body bracing against my angle of attack. I fucked, jammed my cock into the core of her vault. Amidst all the moisture, friction remained as she gripped me with her vaginal muscles. Her pushing, my prodding made my cock swell to its fullest proportions. To know I was visiting an arena so recently visited by another man added a fillip of excitement.
