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Apartment 512

Apartment 512

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Everything old is new again when a randy lady rediscovers her long-lost libido.

“Oh, yes! Oh, God, oh, yes!”

New town. New job. New apartment. New noises from upstairs on the balcony. I was in the middle of moving into the neo-classical studio apartment with the view of the San Francisco Bay when I started to notice sultry sounds emanating from upstairs.

Maybe if I hadn’t taken a breather to arrange my plants I would have dismissed the erotic soundtrack as simply part of the city. But I was really drinking in my fresh environment, pausing to pay attention to every little detail. The move had been momentous for me. I was embarking on a brand-new adventure. So I had my ears perked when I heard what was most definitely a sigh of pleasure followed by a moan of bliss and then a whimper of ecstasy. I stared up, but that didn’t help me any. “Up” was the bottom of the balcony above me. My ceiling was their floor. Who they were I didn’t know. I hadn’t met any of my new neighbors. I sat on the lone chaise lounge to listen further.

There was the same type of sigh again. The sound was decidedly, gloriously female. In fact, I deduced after another moment of eavesdropping, all the sounds were most definitely female. This meant that either there was one woman up there on the balcony pleasuring herself loudly, or there were two women upstairs pleasuring each other.

When the sounds became words once more, I held my breath. “Don’t stop, Sarah. Please don’t stop.”

Two women. I smiled at my stellar detective skills. One woman was definitely being taken care of by another. I lay back on the longue and began to touch myself through my charcoal stretch pants, my fingers instantly encountering slippery wetness at my split. I didn’t worry that anyone might see me. My balcony was screened in with bamboo walls on either side. I was up high enough that nobody from the street would have been able to see.

“You like that, Janie?” The second voice was deeper, but definitely female. I started to try to picture what the women looked like. The second woman sounded older than the first to me. That’s when I heard a third voice, “Of course, she likes that. She loves when you tongue her clit like that, the dirty girl.”

“Three!” I said out loud. And then I bit my bottom lip, wondering if the trio had heard my unexpected exclamation. There was sudden silence from above. Then, as if one of the women had gone on her knees to call down through the slats in the balcony railing, a voice said, “Who’s that?”

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