Blake in 506

Dear anonymous Literotica fan - thank you for kind words last January. They were deeply appreciated and inspired me to keep writing-including this story. Look for future work under the pseudonym Sugar Stone.

*****

He was a beautiful man.

Ask Petra if you don't believe me. She was there. It was unseasonably hot, time was short on the van rental, and the lobby was stuffed with boxes headed upstairs. We were maneuvering my floppy double mattress into the lift, and Petra was losing her patience. "What's this stuffed with? Bricks?"

"Here, take the bottom," I said. The elevator's 'up' button chimed and lit. "Whoever's upstairs is probably losing their minds."

The stairwell door groaned open behind us. We turned and there he was, pale-skinned, with sandy brown hair and a full, well-groomed beard. He wore tortoiseshell glasses. His grey henley shirt showed off a strong, compact body and a ruff of chest hair.

He was short. I easily had four inches and twenty pounds on him. I've always said big girls and small men should get together-we try harder-but I've flirted with enough to know I'm not on a short man's radar. To them I'm just an obstacle between them and a girl their own height-like petite, gorgeous Petra.

He smiled at us. "Don't mean to interrupt."

"Sorry," I said. "Moving day."

"No worries." He gestured to the elevator. "Just wanted to make sure it wasn't broken again."

"It breaks?" asked Petra.

"Sometimes. But not today, I'm sure." He crossed his fingers for us. "Can I help with that?"

"No, thank you," I said. "We've got a handle on it."

Clearly we did not have a handle on it, but he didn't push. "Good luck to you. I'm Blake. I'm in 506 if anything comes up."

"I'll be right across the hall, then," I said. "I'm 503. Anna."

"Pleasure to meet you, Anna." He opened the stairwell door. The stiff piston on the back squeaked outward, bumped a stack of picture frames and sent them sliding. Catlike, Blake jumped out and caught them.

"Stabilized," he said. "Sorry about that." He headed up the stairs. "Welcome to the building."

"Thanks."

I turned back to the double mattress. As we walked it backward, Petra mouthed, "He's cute."

"He's small," I muttered.

Petra cringed. Too late, I realized how nasty I sounded. I whirled toward the stairwell. The old stiff door was still hanging open.

"Oh, God," I whispered. "I'm an asshole."

Petra patted my shoulder. "Basically, yeah."

#

That night, after I returned the van and pledged Petra gratitude for life, I got cleaned up and baked brownies in my pajamas. I played my Netflix queue for a little background noise. It was my first time living alone.

I left a tin of brownies outside Blake's door with a note-I was too much of a coward to knock: "Hope this makes up for hogging the elevator. Anna"

The next morning there was a note on my door: "Thanks! They were great. Blake" His handwriting was wild and messy, and in the margin he drew a stick figure of himself eating the brownies. I was so excited I squeaked.

For whatever reason, I didn't throw the note away. For whatever reason, I left it on the counter. For whatever reason, I thought about him all day at work, and I thought about him all night, and I thought about him in bed while I slipped a hand down the front of my pajamas and imagined it was his hand stroking my clit to life, his gentle finger slipping inside, his two hands working me into a back-cracking climax that left me gasping.

#

The next time I saw him was later that week, again in the lobby. It was just after work and the sun hit the clouds sideways and made everything look dreamy and pink. He was standing at the mailboxes, sifting through his mail. He wore beat-up jeans and a white T-shirt stained with oil.

"Hi, Blake!" I said. I could tell I was smiling too big and talking too loud, like a beauty pageant contestant.

"Evening," he said. His smile was natural, his voice was soothing, and it put me at ease. That kind of calm was a gift. "How was the rest of the move?"

"A pain. But good. I can almost lift my arms again!" I demonstrated.

He laughed. "Some people pay a lot for that kind of workout."

"Well, some people are masochists."

He hit the elevator button.

"Thanks again for the brownies," he said.

"Oh, sure. You made me feel welcome. Not everyone would do that."

"Well." He blushed. It was gorgeous. He looked up at me over his glasses and steepled his eyebrows. Good God. The air between us turned electric. My hand lifted off my purse strap as if it were going to reach out and touch him of its own accord. I wanted to cup the back of his neck and pull him in close, crush myself against his firm body and slip a hand down the front of his jeans.

His lips parted as if he were about to speak. Then the elevator arrived with a chime, and Blake shut his mouth and stepped in. "Going up?"

"Ah." I pretended to check my handbag. "You go on. I think I left something in the car."

He nodded. "'Night."

"'Night."

The lift closed. I stood there a moment, hot-faced and unsteady. Surely I wasn't imagining that. Surely there was something there. I glanced at the stairwell. There's no way he could hear me say "he's small" and still want anything to do with me. Perhaps he hadn't heard it at all?

Fishing in my pocket for a coin, I stepped into the stairwell. I let the groaning door shut until it was only a foot ajar. Then I threw the coin into the lobby. It bounced four times-ping ping pa-ping!-and clattered to a halt-kickikakickiakee. I heard every sound.

Fuck.

#

The next time I saw him, he was working on his Nissan in the dim underground garage, his eyebrows drawn down in frustration. The sight of him nearly made me drive over my wheel stop. He wore dirty jeans and a tight gray T-shirt. I wanted to bite him.

He lit up when he saw me. "Evening, Anna. Unpacked yet?"

"I wish." I unloaded a pair of boxes from the trunk. "Work is kicking my ass." I pointed at his Nissan. "Speaking of, could you use a hand?"

"Do you mind?"

"Sure. But I should warn you I know nothing about cars."

"Fair enough. I know just enough to be dangerous."

The problem was something with a new model of battery, and the poles being swapped, and I don't remember the details. I just remember as we lifted out that twenty pound battery, our shoulders pressed together and his hair brushed my cheek. A fever swept through me, and my pussy turned wet and achy. He backed off fast, smiling, ignoring the contact, but his touch kept echoing through my brain. I was a starved woman inches from a feast, but Blake seemed at ease as ever.

He stretched his arms and popped his back and suddenly asked, "How tall are you?"

I drew myself to full height. "Five foot ten."

He stepped closer to me as if to show the difference between us. My knees jellied, and I thought, "Give me just one sign, and I'll take you right here in the parking deck, I swear to God."

"If I were your height," he said, "you'd never catch me slouching."

I blinked. "Well, if you were a girl this tall, you might not think it was so great."

He smiled. "Impossible."

#

The next time I saw Blake was in the lobby on a Wednesday night. It so happened we were both wearing button-down shirt and jeans, like a uniform.

"Nice shirt," he said.

"You, too," I said.

The elevator came and we boarded. The doors jittered as they closed. "Ugh," I said. "That's not good."

"Probably needs to be serviced again." Blake's voice was strained. "I should tell Paul-"

The elevator shuddered to a halt. We both braced ourselves on the wall.

I laughed out loud. "Classic."

But Blake wasn't laughing. He went white as milk.

"We'll just press this." I hit the emergency call button. There was a beep and a long silence. "Huh." I hit it again.

He mumbled something. His eyebrows steepled again, but tense this time. Nauseous.

"Blake?"

"I should have taken the stairs."

"We hit the button. It's a big city. It won't be long."

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "I'll call Paul directly." His hands were shaking too hard to dial. "Fuck."

"I'll do it." I got my own phone out and called. Our landlord's voicemail picked up. "Paul? This is Anna in 503. The elevator broke. Me and Blake are stuck. Third floor, I guess? Could use some help as soon as you can. Thanks." I hung up. "Just a matter of time now."

Blake's forehead glistened with sweat. He edged toward the corner. His usual calm was gone. "I'm not good in tight spaces."

I put my hand on his shoulder and tried for a joke. "Maybe some tight spaces."

The air between us changed. He looked at me with his clever light eyes. "Is there one you had in mind?"

I turned bright pink. My heart pounded and my legs started to shake. I wanted to push him against the wall right then, right there, who cares who might find us? But I froze in place, too scared to move, too scared to stammer out even a word.

There came a beep from the call box and Paul's voice. "Anna? Blake?"

"Here we are," said Blake.

"Okay. It looks like just another bad fuse. I'm gonna switch it and get you going again."

As the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, Blake got out first and gave me a nod over his shoulder. "Thanks for taking my mind off of things."

"Of course." I didn't know what else to say. He vanished down the hall, leaving me hot and dazed and shaky.

#

I spent the night in misery. That's it? That's all I could come up with? "Of course."

I got out my mixing bowl and flicked through my recipe box. Biscuits. Cakes. Muffins. No use. There was nothing in there that said "I'm sorry you're sex on wheels and I'm chicken shit, and I hope we can be friends as soon as I stop wanting to die."

I was in no mood for sex when I went to bed. Yet somehow around three in the morning I had a dream about Blake bending me over my bed, Blake pulling my panties to my knees, Blake's chest hair prickling my naked back. Blake biting the back of my neck, rubbing my clit from the front with one hand and pressing his fat cock into me with the other.

I woke to a bizarre no-hands orgasm that spasmed for attention. So I sent both hands down for a second go, panties on, knees together, a way that only works if I'm primed to the edge. Beautiful Blake. What wouldn't I give for a chance at the real thing?

#

That Friday night, right around ten, the power went out. One second I was unpacking in my pajamas, texting back and forth with Petra about what was good on Netflix. The next I was sitting in pitch black and dead silence. City light poured through the living room window, but not enough to get anything done by.

All my candles and flashlights were still packed, and now I had no prayer of finding them. I could walk the quarter-mile to drug store and buy more, or I could give up and go to bed at ten on a Friday. Or... I could go knock on Blake's door.

Fuck it. Time to act like a grown-up. He had the right to say yes or no or fuck off, but I was twenty-four and that was damn well old enough to harden up and make a move.

I padded down the hall. I did put my ear to 504, where Linda and Greg Drummond live. No movement in there. I did listen at 505, where the two grad students live. Silence. So I ended up at 506. Blake's. Inside I could hear Blake moving around and gently humming to himself.

I took a deep breath and knocked. The humming stopped. His footsteps approached. The familiar hot and achy feeling welled up in my sex. He opened up, holding a little camp lantern at chest height. He was wearing a white fitted T-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

"Hi, Anna." He smiled, steady as ever.

"The power's out."

"I noticed."

"Can I borrow a flashlight?"

"Sure. Come on in."

Pillar candles peppered the living room. His place was tidy and organized-leather couch, stuffed bookcase, plush shag rug.

"I've got a spare in the kitchen," he said.

I followed him to the long, narrow kitchen-a mirror-image of mine. It smelled like cinnamon. Another camp lantern lit the counter. Wind beat the ivy outside the window and sent flickering shadows over the room. He found the flashlight in a drawer, straightened and turned to me, his face inches from mine. The energy between us crackled. Now or never. I reached a hand to his shoulder and leaned my face close to his.

He let out a long, exasperated breath. "You want me?" There was an edge in his voice.

"Yes! Jesus, yes."

"Even though I'm small?"

My stomach dropped. "I... I figured you heard that. I know how it sounded. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That's not what I meant."

"Oh no?"

"What I meant is men like you don't go for girls like me." I dug my fingers into the back of his neck. "I want you, Blake." My heart was pounding and my sex was hot and soaking. "I want you so much I'm losing my mind."

He pulled me close and kissed me. His beard was silky. His mouth was hot and strange and tasted like cinnamon. I reached under his shirt and scratched his back. I couldn't lose this chance. I had to have him.

He steered me against the counter. I could feel his cock grinding against the fabric at the crook of my thigh. He had one hand on the back of my head, catching my hair, pulling me back to kiss my throat. His other hand went up my shirt.

"Is this what you want?" he said.

"Yes. Please, yes."

As he kissed me, he pushed up my bra and stroked my breasts-a forceful cup, a gentle pinch of the nipple, and a light brush across the collarbone, over and over, one breast and then the other. The pleasure was hypnotic. I ground my hips against his cock. "You're making me crazy."

"Good."

I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his pajamas and started working them off. They caught on his cock, and it sprang loose, heavy and slow, and slapped against my thigh.

"Oh my God," I said. "It's gorgeous."

"You're very kind."

"Look at it." It was wide as a shotgun and long as my hand, with a pink belt of foreskin shrouding the head. It would be substantial on any man; on Blake, it was enormous. I stroked the hot length of it, from marble shaft to velvet head. Blake groaned. "Careful with that."

"I will be."

I pushed him backward and sank to my knees. He was the perfect height. I yanked the pajamas to his ankles, took his cock in my hands, looked up at him and smiled. "May I?"

"Oh, shit." He leaned back and gripped the counter behind him. I tried to freeze that moment, his wild green eyes and half-smile, his straight sharp nose and mussed hair. He was truly beautiful. If he'd never had a woman show him that properly, he was about to.

I ran a finger behind his balls. His cock flexed and a bead glistened at the tip. He made a muffled sound. I opened wide and slid my tongue down the underside of his cock until his velvet head met the back of my throat. I tightened my lips and sucked him as hard as I dared, working my tongue in circles down his shaft.

His perfect height gave me both hands free to handle him. With one I stroked and cupped and scratched his balls, running my fingers now and then down the firm vault behind them. With the other I pumped his shaft, handling his whole cock in long slick strokes, hand and mouth together. With every thrust he sighed "oh, Anna," and his sighs were like applause. I wanted that gorgeous velvet cock driving inside me. My clit was rigid and my pussy was slippery. I was going mad.

Blake shifted against the counter. His thighs started to shake. "Anna, I'm gonna come..."

I hummed approval.

"Oh, God." His breath caught. His cock fattened and his balls tightened. "Oh, fuck." His knees buckled. Four sweet hot spurts shot against the back of my throat. I drank it down, polishing his cock clean.

He let his breath out with a long groan. "Anna." He slid down the cabinets and joined me on the floor. "You're trying to kill me."

"Cartainly not." I lay down beside him. "I'm hoping for more."

"I expect so." He climbed on top of me and kissed the tender side of my neck. He was so light! I'd never been under someone less than fifteen stone. "We have to tell people," I said. "Big girls and short men. The world needs to know."

Blake slipped a hand between my thighs. He rubbed my clit through my panties. I pushed my hips into his touch. I was so hot for him, so close, he could have made me come right there on the kitchen floor.

"Let me wash up," he said. "Meet you in the bedroom?"

"Yes, please."

He adjourned to the bathroom. I picked up two candles and found his bedroom. The bed was made. The sheets were white and crisp. I took off my pyjamas and got between them. I pushed a finger around the hem of my panties to see how wet I was. My clit was burning hot and fatter than it had ever been. My panties were absolutely soaked. It was going to happen. It was finally going to happen.

Blake brought a candle with him from the bathroom. He was completely naked, and the front of his body was covered with curly golden hair. His penis was resting now, but still long and plump, and with his lean sleek muscles and narrow waist he looked like a drawing from an anatomy textbook.

"Hello," he said.

"You are gorgeous."

"Speak for yourself."

He set the candle on the bedside table and slipped into bed beside me. He stroked my hair and kissed me. His mouth was minty and his fingers smelled like soap. We lay on our sides and held each other as tight as we could, kissing and petting. I felt his soft body hair all the way down, his penis against my crotch, his thighs against mine, his hot breath on my neck, his hands crossed on my back. He kissed down my neck and across my collarbone. I sighed and rolled onto my back.

"You've been very patient," he said. He stroked my breasts-cup, pinch and tickle. Every nerve ending in my body came to attention. This was not his first time around. Some girl had been very lucky to find him and very foolish to let him go.

This position put my hand just under his penis, so I circled and stroked it. It fattened up with approval.

"That's very nice," he said.

"Good."

He ran his hand down my belly and pulled off my panties slipped two fingers in the cleft of my sex. I was soaking wet.

"Wow," he said.

"You did that."

My clit was fully awake and ready for pleasure, and his touch delivered. He stroked me in big circles, firm but not too firm, treating it like a royal. "God, Blake."

His cock was fully hard again, and I wet my hand and stroked it. His arousal amplified mine. My pleasure ramped up quickly. I was on the plateau within a minute. I was mad for his cock. I felt hungry and hollow. "I'm close."

"Good."

"I've got to have you inside me. I'm losing my mind."

"Good." He turned to the bedside table and pulled a gold foil wrapper from the drawer. "Would you?"

He held back his foreskin and I rolled the condom on. It had a good silky feel to it. The ritual of it, the calm before the storm, made my stomach flip. It was about to happen. I needed it. I was ready. I'd never been so ready.

"It's been a while," I said.

"Me, too."

He stretched out, and I pulled him on top of me. He settled between my thighs again. This time I felt his cock against my naked pussy. It was electric.

He lifted himself up, and I reached down and guided his cock to my soaking sex. I licked my hand and wetted down the long underside of his shaft. The tip of his cock pressed against me. It was happening. I was shaking with longing. I grabbed his ass with both hands, and he pushed, so slowly. The tip was no trouble, but the double-barrel shotgun shaft stretched me. It was so intense I gasped. Blake froze.

"It's all right," I said. I worked his cock back out and in again. The stretch hit again, but less. "It's all right. I want it. Give it to me."

Blake pushed again. It felt like he was a mile long, like there was no end to him. I let out a long breath and pushed my hips up to meet him.