Four by Flash #3

Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates! I present to you an explicit masturbation scene, het implied.


She was at it again. He hated nights like this. He loved nights like this. Thanks to an inconvenient floor plan their bedrooms shared a wall. It was hard enough to be her neighbor, to bump into the beautiful Anna on a daily basis, his cock twitching at even the sight of her like he was some goddamn teenage boy again, but this… this was torture.

In the hall, in the elevator, they’d share pleasantries, and she’d laugh when he flirted with her.

“Can you imagine the scandal?” she’d giggle and wink, leaning hard on his arm.

He couldn’t help it, the surge of lust he felt when she did that, hot inside him, and it took everything he had not to grab her tight and make her his.

There was no nice way to put it. Anna was a slut. At least, that’s what she called herself. She brought a different boy or girl or both home at least three times a week and fucked them for hours before sending them on their way. Since his bedroom was right against hers, he could hear her every movement.

He slithered a hand under the blanket, brushed fingertips along his aching cock. He was already hard, leaking precome onto his belly, dampening the sheet. Trailing his fingers up his length, he rubbed his thumb across the slit, sliding across his head. His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation and his hips rocked up into his hand. He swallowed a groan as someone cried out next door.

Fuck it. He gave himself over to abandon. With his free hand, he rifled through his drawer until he pulled out lube. He was in the mood for the slick of it tonight, and he coated himself in two strokes. Bottle tossed away, he began stroking, listening perversely, wishing it was him in the next room. He ran his fist, gripped tight, up and down his cock, thrusting hips upward. A flick of the wrist at the top of each stroke, thumb pressing inward, pushing him closer. Behind his eyelids, he imagined Anna, red hair flying, beautiful lips, the melody he would make her to sing as he had his way with her.

Without conscious effort, his climax neared as the fucking next door seemed to come to a crescendo. He could feel the tension draw up in his balls, the clenching deep in his belly, his cock head swell at the impending orgasm. Through the walls, Anna – he could tell it was Anna this time – cried out, and that sent him over the edge.

He came in thick spurts, letting go of his restraint and allowing his gasps and groans to come as loud as they needed to. His hand continued to stroke, to milk out the last bits of his orgasm, until he was too sensitive to continue. He lay there for a long moment, listening to the noises next door reach inevitable conclusion, before crawling out of bed to clean himself up.

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