Hi, I'm Mark. Your Neighbour.

He saw her most days. Their schedules overlapped. When he returned from his night shift, she left for work. Some days, as the elevator opened on his floor, she'd be waiting. They always shared a smile, but they never spoke. On other days, he'd make it to his door before she closed hers. He would wait and watch her walk to the elevator. She dressed smart: tight-fitting skirt, ironed shirt, stockings, practical shoes, and librarian glasses. On Fridays, she wore jeans. She looked good in jeans. When she missed the elevator, she'd whisperfuckunder her breath, and while she waited, she'd tuck in her shirt, or put on an earring, or comb back her short hair. Her name was Clare—he knew that from her post box in the foyer—and even on the days that he didn't see her at all, he would think about her as he masturbated before going to sleep.

On Saturday, he did his laundry in the building's basement. He made idle conversation with Harold, the old man from 312, and he played games on his phone to pass the time. To his surprise, Clare came down the stairs into the basement, struggling to carry two baskets. He'd never seen her in the basement before.

"Here, let me help," he said and took a basket from her. She was barefoot, and wore a t-shirt and hotpants.

"Thanks. My mum's machine broke," she said in explanation.

"Your mum still does your washing?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Jealous?"

"Not at all. I love spending my Saturdays here with Harold," he said. "Isn't that right, Harold?" The old man didn't acknowledge him. He was a bit hard of hearing.

Clare's smile turned to a delightful grin. She had bed head hair, and wore no makeup. He noticed her freckles for the first time.Why does she cover that up?he wondered. She started sorting her laundry. He couldn't resist the urge to look at her chest. She wasn't wearing a bra. Clare's nipples protruded under her shirt, and her breasts bounced a little as she moved around.

Clare caught him staring and glanced down. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's cold in here."

"No, don't apologise," he said. "I ... I like it."

Clare's eyes brightened. "Really?" She glanced at Harold, who was busy loading his washing, and then she stepped up to him. "I like that you like it," she said huskily.

Without breaking eye contact, he slowly lifted his hand to her breast. Clare made no attempt to stop him. His index finger brushed her nipple, and she gave a small shiver. He gently circled it. She moaned softly.

A washing machine door slammed. Harold had finished loading his washing and turned on the machine. Clare looked at the old man and then back to him. She grabbed his hand and said, "Come." She led him up the short steps to the elevator, and pushed the button. He pushed her against the door and kissed her.

The door opened and they stumbled into the lift. He hit number 6, and turned around. Clare was in the corner, half lifting herself up on the handles. The doors closed. She bit her lower lip. He went to her, pulled her close, grabbed her behind, and kissed her again. Their tongues met. She tasted of spearmint. He put his hand under her shirt and found her breast. He wasn't gentle this time. He squeezed and she responded by biting his lip. Her eyes were alive with hunger. DING. The doors opened.

Clare led him to her flat and into her bedroom. He started to undress her, but she resisted. "No. You first." He took off his shirt, shoes and socks. She helped him with his trousers, and then she was on her knees before him, rubbing her face on his boxers and against his member that was hard and straight. Clare pulled down his pants, and gave him a playful smile. She licked his penis from the shaft to the head. The sensation overwhelmed him. "Jesus," he moaned. She took his cock in her hand, put it in her mouth, and sucked. He held her head, more in an effort to steady himself than anything else.

Agonisingly, she stopped and pushed him on to the bed. He sat, and she stood over him. Clare slowly pulled up her shirt until he could see the bottom of her tits, round, voluptuous, and perfect. Clare's shirt caught her erect nipples and it lifted her breasts higher, until gravity won. They bounced, but quickly settled. Her nipples were not too big, and pink. He preferred pink nipples. She turned around, undid the button of her hotpants, and it suddenly hit the floor. She wore tight yellow panties that rode up the crevice of her behind just a little. Then, slowly, Clare pulled her panties down and bent forward as she did so. When they were at her ankles, he got a glimpse of the line and lips of her pussy. Clare turned around, and he held his breath. Her pubic hair was a black, trimmed, triangle, and he loved it.

He got up and almost threw her on the bed. She laughed in delight. He lay over her and kissed her neck and shoulders. Then he sucked and played with her nipples, first the one, then the other. While he did this, his hand crept to her crotch, gently tickling her skin on the way down. She opened her legs to him, and he stroked her vagina in a circular motion. Before long, he licked her tummy, and then kissed her inner thighs. Next, he spread her legs as far as they could go. With his two thumbs, he parted her pussy lips to expose the pink button of her clitoris. He rhythmically licked around it, letting her get used to the sensation. She moaned in pleasure. Then he licked up and down, no longer holding back. With each lick, Clare's tummy tightened.

"Fuck me," she breathed. It sounded like a plea. She reached over to her bedside table and passed him a condom. He moved up, sitting on his knees, legs wide apart. He pulled Clare closer, lined her up, and put on the condom. He slapped his penis on her vagina, wetting the tip. He stopped teasing, and entered her. Clare gave a small yelp. She was wet, warm, and tight. He thrusted deep and pulled out slow, again and again. He held her legs tight as the tempo increased. He felt the pleasurable tingling in his groin build up. Not wanting to spend himself so soon, he slowed his thrusting, leaned forward, and kissed her mouth.

They turned over and Clare straddled him. She let him kiss her nipples, and playfully pulled away so that they were just out of reach. She sat back, squeezed her thighs, and started moving them with the grace of a belly-dancer. He cupped her breasts and then her ass. His hands moved with her motion. Clare's eyes were closed now as she worked on her pleasure. Her moaning was no longer a whisper. Her face contorted with each deep penetration. In another setting, her expression could be mistaken for pain. "I want you to finish me from behind," she demanded.

She dismounted and proceeded to stand on all fours. A more inviting scene he could not remember. He held Clare's thighs and fucked her as hard as he could. After a couple of thrusts, she orgasmed. He could feel it with his penis; the involuntary grab of and release of her pussy. He saw the contractions mimicked in the lines of her clenching anus. It excited him to see her satisfied, and he came. He lost control of his body. His release was as painful as it was pleasurable.

They stayed frozen in that pose for a minute or two, breathing hard, and savouring the moment.

"Hi, I'm Mark. Your neighbour," he said. "Pleased to meet you."

The laundry remained forgotten for the rest of the day.