I Put the Moves on My Neighbor Inside the Elevator

By the time I was twenty-four, I was already fucking Remedios, my neighbor on the fourth floor, almost every day. The smell of her cheap perfume mixed with sweat, the rub of her heavy breasts against mine, the wet panting when I’d shove my fingers deep inside her while we rode floors up in that piece-of-shit elevator. It drove me insane, and by then I no longer knew how to stop.

One night I ran into Ramiro in a dive in the neighborhood, one of those grimy places where young guys like us went looking to hook up with older women and get them to buy us drinks. A sleazy nightclub for divorcées and widows, smelling of stale beer and old sweat. Eighties music pounding in your ears and a sticky bar of spilled alcohol.

Ramiro was sprawled on a sofa with a whisky in his hand, the haze from the ice rising slowly. He was staring fixedly at a group of mature women dancing on the floor: wide hips, tight dresses, sweat gleaming in their cleavages. We saw each other and hugged hard. His breath smelled of cheap cologne and beer.

We talked about the old neighborhood, about Pura, the school seamstress, and how she used to get us horny as kids when she stitched on our buttons in that little room. The brush of her thick fingers, the heat of her breath near our necks. Slaps on the back, hoarse laughter, two guys remembering the same thing without quite saying it.

Then they arrived: Herminia and Casilda.

Two women in their fifties, fleshy, voluptuous, elegant in their own way. Short hair, discreet makeup, but glossy red lips and dresses that showed off big tits and round asses. They smelled of floral perfume and fresh sweat. They came up to the bar, heels clicking on the sticky floor, and looked us up and down.

—What are you doing here all by yourselves, handsome? —Herminia said, in a husky voice and a mischievous smile.

Ramiro went straight to the point, no beating around the bush.

—Well, we came so you’d buy us a drink… and give us a good fuck.

There was a second of silence, the air thick with tobacco and alcohol. Then they both laughed from deep in the throat and ordered a round. They danced pressed against us. Herminia with me: her huge tits crushed against my chest, her hard nipples showing through the fabric, her ass rubbing against my stiff cock. A humid heat was rising between her legs.

Casilda was doing the same with Ramiro, his hands already slipping under her clothes. The alcohol loosened their tongues, and ours too, and stripped away our embarrassment. Right there on the dance floor we lifted their skirts, rubbed their hot sex over their panties, breathing in their arousal mixed with drink.

—Come on, let’s sit in the booths in the back —Casilda suggested, her voice thick from the drinks—, our coats are there.

Sticky tables, the smell of spilled beer. The two of them on one side, us facing them, the conversation getting dirtier with every drink.

—Come on, kiss each other —we challenged them.

They agreed without much coaxing. They made out right there: tongues tangled, saliva shining on their red lips, one woman’s hands searching for the other’s breasts. Moans muffled by the loud music. We upped the stakes and asked for more. Herminia slipped her hand under Casilda’s skirt and gave her a quick fingering. Casilda returned the favor. Soft moans, the smell of their hot cunts rising from under the table.

We ended up at Casilda’s place, the four of us in the same bed, the sheets smelling of old sweat and perfume. Herminia rode me first: heavy tits slapping my face, hard nipples in my mouth, her wet, hot cunt swallowing my cock whole, hoarse moans filling the room. Ramiro fucked the other one, the sound of flesh slamming against flesh, gasps, the smell of raw sex.

Then we switched. I took Casilda from behind, driving into her all the way, her big ass bouncing against my pelvis while she screamed for more. Ramiro went down on Herminia. Then we laid them one on top of the other, breasts crushed together, both of them open and soaked, cocks alternating between the two of them. Sweat ran down our backs and the smell of sex and alcohol filled the room. Dirty insults, laughter, moans, broken breaths.

The next day they drove us back to our buildings. The smell of sex still stuck to our skin, our cocks aching, and an unspoken promise between Ramiro and me: we were going to fuck more older women in the neighborhood. And we were going to pass them to each other. Or do them both at once.

Herminia and Casilda were only the first. After that came others: the woman on the second floor, who always wore tight leggings and smelled like vanilla; the one on the fifth, with tits spilling out of her neckline; the one on the ground floor, who wore a miniskirt to take out the trash and bent over more than necessary. We’d invite them for drinks, take them to empty apartments or parked cars, and fuck them without a second thought. Me with one, Ramiro with the other, or both at once.

***

But the one I was really obsessed with was still Remedios. And one day, the opportunity I’d been fantasizing about for months finally came.

She was with her husband and didn’t even notice I got in behind them. Anselmo, her husband, dark and weathered, with that permanently pissed-off face, smelled of tobacco and afternoon wine. He barked a dry “let’s go,” pressed himself against the elevator door, squinting at his phone, a can of beer in his other hand. By that hour he was almost always drunk. Remedios was in the middle, with her back to me, and I was right behind her.

The elevator was old and narrow, with that typical smell of metal and damp in the old buildings of Zaragoza. She pressed fourth; I pressed seventh. The doors closed slowly and silence fell.

Without thinking twice, I slid my right hand around behind her and first brushed the hem of her skirt. I slowly moved up over her thick, warm thigh. She went tense as a spring, gave a little jolt, her bag shifted, and she turned her head a quarter toward me, eyes wide.

—What…? —she barely whispered, her voice choked by the disbelief that I was putting the moves on her in front of her husband.

She tried to shuffle sideways to get away, but the elevator was so small that all she managed was to press even closer to me. Her voluptuous ass rubbed against my crotch. I kept sliding up the inside of her thigh until I reached her cotton panties, already a little damp, maybe from the heat or from something she wouldn’t even admit to herself. I pushed the fabric aside with two fingers and touched her directly. The fleshy sex, the hot lips, the clit already a little swollen.

Remedios let out a short gasp, almost an “ah,” which she disguised as a cough. She squeezed her thighs shut, but I slid my knee between them gently to keep access. With her other hand she grabbed the handrail as if she were about to fall. She glanced sideways at Anselmo —who was still absorbed in his phone, sipping his beer, totally unfazed— and then at me, with a face full of panic mixed with something darker.

—No… Bruno… for God’s sake… —she murmured very softly, her voice trembling.

But she didn’t say “stop.” She didn’t say “no.” Only “please,” as if begging desire not to betray her. I slid one finger in slowly and found her soaked inside despite everything. She tightened around it, hot and slick. She pressed her lips together until they went white, breathed hard through her nose, and tried to twist her body away, but all that did was make my finger go deeper. With my thumb I rubbed her clit in slow circles.

—Fuck… no… we shouldn’t… —she muttered through her teeth.

And yet her hips moved back almost a millimeter, pushing against my fingers. She tried to push my wrist away with her free hand, but the grip was weak, almost symbolic, and she ended up letting go to cover her mouth and stifle a moan.

The elevator passed the second floor, then the third, slow and endless. Anselmo coughed and changed songs on his phone. Remedios was trembling all over: weak legs, red face, glassy eyes. I felt her cunt clamping hard around my hand and hot liquid soaked my fingers. She came in absolute silence, biting her wrist, a shiver running down her back, her breasts rising and falling with her quickened breathing. Just as the elevator reached the fourth floor and the doors opened.

Anselmo got out first, muttering a “come on, already.” Remedios staggered when she tried to step out, because I still had my fingers inside her. She reached out discreetly and gave my cock a quick, firm tap, right over the zipper, but so hard it made me stumble against the elevator wall. She nearly knocked me to the floor with the pain. She took the chance to get out, still trembling from the orgasm she’d just had ripped out of her, her clothes a little rumpled and a suspicious shine on her thighs.

She let out a low, husky little laugh, the kind that sounds like a woman who hasn’t laughed like that in years, and turned quickly toward her door as if nothing had happened. She stayed there for a second in the doorway and looked at me over her shoulder: eyes full of shame, confusion, and guilt, and a glint of desire she couldn’t hide. She said nothing.

Anselmo looked back while he waited for her to open up, and in a thick voice said:

—See you later, kid.

He took two clumsy steps down the hallway, stopped dead, turned around, and pointed at me as if he’d just remembered something important.

—You weren’t an electrician, were you?

I, with my cock still throbbing from Remedios’s touch, answered with total calm.

—Yes, I am.

—Look, Remedios, the kid can fix our outlets! The one in the living room keeps flickering and the kitchen one trips every other day.

She stood frozen in the doorway, keys in hand, her face suddenly pale. Scared to death, eyes wide, thinking about what had just happened in the elevator: how she’d almost not been able to resist, how she’d come in silence with my fingers inside her while her husband was a meter away.

Imagine us alone in their house, with Anselmo out buying beer.

She babbled quickly, her voice shaking.

—No, no, Anselmo… don’t bother the boy… he’ll be busy…

I, smelling the opportunity, jumped on it without hesitation.

—It’ll be a pleasure, Remedios. If you need them right now, I’ll fix them for you now. It’s nothing.

She swallowed and tried to buy time.

—It’s just that… I don’t have any money at home right now…

—We’re neighbors, woman —I smiled calmly—. A beer is enough for me. Nothing more is needed.

Remedios, desperate, was scrambling for excuses.

—And there aren’t… any beers left at home either…

Anselmo let out a rough laugh, took a long swig from the can, and perked up.

—Well, we can’t be without beer, fuck. I’ll go get some at the Chinese shop downstairs, see if it’s open.

He turned around without waiting for a reply and headed down the stairs dragging his feet, muttering something about the fucking slow elevator. The echo of his footsteps faded away below, and Remedios and I were left staring at each other on the landing, alone, with the door half open.