The moan fest

So, remember my neighbors? The rabbit-fuckers? Well, I decided it was time to return the favor. I’d had enough of just listening. It was my turn to put on a show. I swiped on Tinder until I found my weapon: Marcus. His profile was a masterpiece of暗示 – a picture of his hands (big, strong, capable), a hint of a tattoo snaking up his torso, and a smirk that promised he knew exactly how to use what he had.

I brought him home on a Friday night. The second we were through the door, I didn’t waste time. I pushed him onto my couch, climbed onto his lap, and ground against the very impressive, very solid bulge in his jeans. He got the message. He kissed like he was starving, and I was the first meal he’d had in years. His hands were everywhere, pulling my hair, gripping my ass, squeezing my tits through my shirt.

I led him to the bedroom, right next to the infamous shared wall. I made a point of being loud. When he finally got his pants off, fuck. He was huge. Thick and veiny and just… perfect. I wasn’t faking a single sound when he entered me. I screamed. A raw, guttural sound ripped from my throat as he stretched me open, filling me in a way that stupid cucumber never could.

He had this rhythm, this deep, rolling grind that hit every single spot inside me. I was seeing stars, clawing at his back, begging him to go harder, faster, deeper. I was howling like a fucking animal, and I made sure my mouth was aimed right at the wall. This was my symphony now, you assholes. Listen to this.

And then, silence from their side. For a blissful moment, I thought I’d won. I’d shut them up. Marcus was pounding into me, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest, and I was so close to coming I could taste it.

Then, it started.

It wasn’t their usual frantic fucking. It was deliberate. A slow, deep moan from her, long and drawn-out, pure pleasure. Then his low growl in response. The headboard slammed once, twice, a declaration of war. They had heard my challenge, and they were accepting it.

What followed was the hottest, most insane sexual competition imaginable. Marcus would drive into me, making me shriek, and she would answer with a crescendo of her own moans. He’d grunt, a primal, possessive sound, and my neighbor would match it with a roar. We were fueling each other, two couples separated by a thin sheet of drywall, trying to out-fuck each other. It was filthy. It was animalistic. It was the biggest turn-on of my life.

I came first, a screaming, shaking orgasm that clenched around Marcus’s cock. Hearing me, she let out this triumphant, wailing cry a second later, followed by his own guttural shout. Marcus, spurred on by the entire insane situation, followed soon after, collapsing on top of me with a final, deep thrust.

The four of us fell silent, nothing but the sound of heavy breathing from both apartments. Marcus just laughed, breathless. “What the hell was that?” I just smiled.

Now, when we see each other in the hallway, it’s all knowing smirks and raised eyebrows. No more polite “how are you”s. Just a silent, shared acknowledgment of the filthy, delicious secret we all share. That wall isn’t a barrier anymore. It’s an invitation.