On Call

Your phone buzzes while you do something mundane. You're washing dishes, or just walked in the door and are still getting your coat off, or you were even just about to fall asleep. The text tone is the same but the vibration is a little different than the rest of your contacts, to alert you that someone specific demands your attention. You're being summoned across the hall.

You pause for a second to feel annoyed at the inconvenience. The audacity of him, to interrupt your day like this. Nearly every day now you have the great privilege of dropping what you're doing to visit your neighbour. There's never any consideration for how his needs affect you--he might ask from time to time, "What were you up to? Doing anything important?" He certainly likes the idea that he's caught you at a bad time, but that you've abandoned your task or, better yet, company, to go to him.

By some miracle, the opportunity hasn't presented itself for you to have to make that decision. In all likelihood you'd pretend you didn't hear the text, you were out of the apartment and couldn't get home, some perfectly valid excuse. But that might be a big deal the next time you see him, so it's better to go along with it when you can. So each time you do drop the mundane task. The dishes go undone, you shuck your boots off just to go back out again, you haul yourself out of bed to drag yourself across the hallway of your apartment building to unit 31.

Sometimes the text yields a clue as to what you can expect once the door opens. So far you've been told to make sure you're wet before you walk in the door, and to bring specific toys or wear specific clothing. Your stomach drops a bit when you see this request:

"Dress code is nothing"

For a moment you hesitate--are you understanding this correctly? Is this really the kind of thing he can expect you to do? It sounds pretty illegal, actually--even a few moments naked in the hallway are enough for someone else to see you. That's obviously the appeal to him, but it's further than you've had to go so far. Slutty little shorts and a bathrobe, sure, but nothing? But you know it's the natural escalation of the arrangement so far.

This is how you're led naked into the hallway. Because it's the door directly across from yours, you don't even bother with socks--they feel semantic at this point. You get undressed behind your front door, and hold your ear to it to gauge the traffic outside. There are about 10 units that open into the same long hallway--10 units and an elevator that need to stay silent for you right now. Opening it slowly and poking your head out, trying to act natural, you glance quickly up and down the empty hall. A big quick breath, rip the bandaid off. Two quick steps and you knock on 31.

It's now that it occurs to you that he might not answer right away. Your heart is pounding and every second feels like five. The elevator sounds like it's being used on another floor, but your adrenaline is rushing and you can't make sense of the noise enough to figure out how close.

The door opens and reveals Neil. He's focusing on his phone screen and it takes another moment for you to process that he's pointing the camera at you. The phone drops a bit and he looks at you, a small smirk on his face. Every inch of your skin is warming with embarrassment and vulnerability, and in your haste to get inside you brush against him as he steps aside for you. The door shuts and he spins you around to face him.

Neil, you estimate, is in his mid to late 40s--a good 20 years older than you at minimum. He's about a foot taller than you, a little overweight, and his black hair is about a third of the way to grey. His apartment has nice furniture, but feels pretty impersonal: there are no photographs, no books that tell you anything about him, nothing to indicate a personality. You figure that makes it easier to do this.

He loved the show. His hands are on your hips, shoving you into a cold wall, pressing himself against you. He's gentle at first, caressing and kissing you. Neil thinks of himself as a gentleman, and he thinks you're beautiful. His pretty boy.

"That was quick," he purrs in your ear before taking a step back to look at you fully. "Were you already naked?"

"No, I had to get undressed," you reply. You can't help but sound dry--it was a vulnerable move, and you're still feeling nervous. He wraps an arm around you and leads you further inside.

The curtain is drawn and the lights are off, so the kitchen illuminates Neil's bedroom. The bed is perfectly made, and the height often makes you feel like you're in a hotel or a family member's guest bedroom. He seats you on the bed, only your leg getting a beam of light from outside, and stares at you as he slowly gets undressed himself. He takes his time, undoing his watch and setting it on the dresser, half-folding his polo and jeans before hanging them off the back of a chair in the corner.

He gestures for you to help with his underwear. You kneel in front of him and tug the briefs down around his feet, and as he steps out of them, he directs you, "Get me started."

Neil's a reasonably sized man. Your metric puts him a bit above average, and you've never wanted to complain about it--except when he wants head. You open your mouth and let the tip of his cock rest on top of your tongue. You look up at him, but it's either too dark to read anything on his face, or he's emotionless. He thrusts forward a tiny bit, not too much, just sliding back and forth on your tongue a few centimetres.

You let your mouth close around it, also not too much. Just a tease, a bit of foreplay, a little taste. In moderation, Neil's cock even feels good in your mouth--the shape and feel are pleasant pretty much every way you've tried it so far. You suck the head gently, and take a bit more of him each time you bob towards him.

After a moment he pushes your head back off him, and moves to sit in the chair in the corner, facing the bed.

"Get yourself ready for me."

You look at him for a moment, still on your knees. Slowly you get to your feet, and hop onto the edge of the bed. You're performing now. You're here to make him happy, to give him what he wants. You're still learning what it is that he wants, but you're starting to get an idea.

Your knees stick into the air as you lay on your back and spread your legs for him. The way the beam of light from the kitchen falls into the bedroom, it's landing directly below your stomach. Sucking him off got you a bit hard, so you're hoping the light falls on your cock just right for him to see. And now you get to play with yourself. You glance down quickly, just for a moment, and see him starting to stroke his dick as you start to stroke yours. The uncomfortable warmth of adrenaline and vulnerability has worn off, and the electricity of confidence and pleasure take over. "Like this?"

"Low on your knees," he replies.

You avoid eye contact--he's not usually one to shy away from light, so the lights being off feels intentional. Your gaze goes from the ceiling to the other side of the room to the blanket underneath you as you roll over and position yourself at the end of the bed, spread wide and low on your knees as you start rubbing yourself again. You try to make it obvious when you're wet, fingering yourself a little bit and using the lube on your cock.

He "hmm"s and "mhmm"s, making you continue until he knows you're starting to really enjoy it. It always starts off a bit fake, the show--you try to act ready right away, get it over with, but if he wanted to start right away, he'd have made that part of the deal before you came over. He wants to see you like it. He wants to see you want it.

You're so distracted sounding like you want it that you don't notice him behind you until he's touching you. The fingers of one hand brush along your lower back, rub your ass, squeeze and stretch you a little bit, presumably to get a better look. You keep your head down and just feel it. If it's going to happen anyway, you're allowed to enjoy it.

It catches you off guard just a bit when he starts to slip inside you. Your cunt takes him easily, and you groan encouragement.

"You looked so cute out in the hallway like that," he tells you as he thrusts gently. A few strokes at the same depth, and then just a tiny bit further, over and over as he slowly reaches further and further into you. "I should have let you wait a bit longer. I bet everyone in the building would love to see that much of you."

The idea left your stomach churning when you did it, but now it's paying off. It's getting hotter, thinking of a neighbour at the end of the hall stepping out in time to see you fully exposed and stepping into Neil's apartment. What if he had made you start there? What if the game had begun in the hall, with you on your knees, before you were even allowed to step inside?

"Would you like that, baby?" he slows down and watches you keep going--you've been backing up into him, trying to take more. "Want to show off for them? Stop wearing clothes on your way over for me to use you?"

So far you've done a pretty good job at staying quiet. You put on a good, stoic show about this being a chore for you. But you have to give him what he wants, too. You have to secretly love it. You have to secretly want him so much that you'd be doing this even if you didn't have to; and you don't know if you'd go that far, but fuck, he feels good. He doesn't have to know that secretly loving it is as real as the part where you begrudgingly accept that whether you like it or not, he owns you.

He's about as deep as he can get now, and god, does he own you. Your cock is still between your fingers as he pounds you, and the way you spread yourself has you feeling as hard as you've ever been with him. You want to beg him not to stop, but that's too much--you're supposed to stay quiet. You're supposed to only secretly want him filling you like this, exactly like this.

"Such a good boy," he grunts--he must have gone crazy for this new stunt, the way he's already speeding up, the way he's no longer a gentleman. He's holding onto your legs in a way that's uncomfortable but keeps control of you, of the movement. Gentle is gone and so are you, as a person. You're the toy now.

When he cums in you--the fastest he's ever cum in you--you consider letting that be it, just being the toy. But he had you wanting more from the start. You get to sneak back across the hall again, still naked, this time dripping with cum. It has to be worth it.

So as he cries out, getting deep and staying put to give you the entire load, you keep going, grinding against him, stifling moans, taking even more, until you're shaking underneath him and he gets to watch in the afterglow of his orgasm as you work to make yourself cum on his cock.

He stays put for a few moments. You feel him soften in you, and already you're anticipating the mess as you stand up. He steps back and you wait, catching your breath, letting it ride out, until you feel steady and climb slowly off the end of the bed. When you turn around, he kisses you hard. His whole body embracing you, his tongue shoved in you, he kisses you. This goes on until the exact moment before you're no longer going to be able to pretend you're enjoying it, that you still want more--you draw the line at the way he touches you. The control stops being cute after you're finished, and this felt too quick and to the point to think you're going to get more out of it.

"Back home, now," he tells you, squeezing your shoulder and giving you another good once-over before stepping back and letting you out of the bedroom. "Good boy."

You don't feel welcome to clean yourself up--you never really are. You hurriedly get back to the front door and listen for activity in the hall, cum dripping down your leg. Nothing. The few steps back to your front door are as uneventful as the trip getting there. You close the door behind you, and your work clothes are still on the floor of your apartment, right where you left them.