The Transvestite on the Fifth Floor Made Me Climb Up Sweating

The Boedo building had seven floors and creaked with every gust of hot air that blew through the hallways. Built in the 1940s, with thick walls that were no use anymore against that murderous February. The elevator was a cage of iron with a folding gate, one of those that vibrates on the way up and sounds as if it were begging to be retired.

Almost nobody had air conditioning. Fans spun, pushing lukewarm air from one side to the other, and from the open windows the noise of radios, shouting, dogs, and neighbors cursing out their partners drifted out.

Mariel lived on the fifth floor. Damián on the second. They crossed paths almost every day on the stairs or inside that slow elevator, exchanging looks that lasted a second longer than necessary. But that February the heat had made everything too much, and the whole city was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

It was four in the afternoon. Forty-three degrees according to the kitchen thermometer. Mariel was on the fifth-floor balcony, leaning against the wrought-iron railing, wearing little more than a sheer blue silk camisole that clung to her body with sweat. Her small, firm tits showed with every breath. A thin red thong, as fine as a thread, disappeared between her wet ass cheeks. Her shaved cock, half-erect, could barely be made out beneath the damp fabric. Her hair was tied up in an improvised bun, with rebellious strands falling over her nape.

From below came the hoarse voice, loaded with anger:

—Mariel! Turn the music down, for fuck’s sake, or I’m coming up and breaking it myself.

She leaned over the railing with a smile that was anything but innocent. The camisole parted slightly and, for a second, revealed the edge of a nipple.

—Well then, come up, daddy. The elevator’s deader than the summer of ’89, so hurry up before I change my mind.

Three minutes later, the screech of the elevator announced his arrival. Damián yanked open the gate with a sharp pull. He came in sweating, wearing a white tank top that stuck to his chest and gym shorts that outlined his thick cock, already half-hard.

The apartment felt like a Turkish bath. It smelled of burning skin, sweat, ripe fruit, and a sweet almond-oil perfume Mariel had left open on the dresser.

—Look at you, you little slut —he growled, shutting the door with his heel—. All wet, your thong wedged up your ass, your hair a mess. In this heat you look like you stepped out of a cheap porn movie.

Mariel turned slowly, held his gaze, and pulled down her thong with two fingers. She spread her ass cheeks with the other hand. The pink hole, shaved, glistened with sweat.

—I’ve been dripping since noon, Damián. I’ve been thinking about this for three hours. Come here, use me. You’ve earned it for climbing five floors.

He didn’t wait any longer. He crossed the living room in two steps and shoved her against the oak table by the window. The fabric of the camisole rode up to her waist. Damián spat on his fingers and started to open her slowly, carefully measuring her. One finger first, then two, turning slowly, stretching that ring that was already loose from the heat and humidity. With his free hand he reached for the almond oil, poured it until it ran down her thighs, and pushed three fingers into her to the hilt.

—Ahh… like that, daddy… open me up good… —Mariel panted, pushing her hips back—. Don’t be scared, open me wider, I can take it.

Damián lowered his shorts. His thick, veiny cock sprang out, heavy and hard, striking his abdomen. He placed the broad head against the shining hole and pushed slowly.

The entrance was slow, intense, devastating. Mariel let out a long, sharp moan when she felt the head force its way past the ring and inside. Centimeter by centimeter, the cock filled her to the hilt. The heat of that flesh inside her ass, added to the afternoon heat, stole her breath.

—Nghhh… you’re tearing me apart… —she moaned, voice breaking—. You’re so deep…

Damián started moving. First slowly, driving into her with each thrust. Then harder. Sweat-soaked skin crashed against sweat-soaked skin with an obscene sound: slap, slap, slap, slap. Sweat dripped off Damián’s chest and landed on Mariel’s arched back, mixing with hers and running down to where the cock went in and out of her opened ass.

—Fuck me harder, daddy… —she begged—. Use my ass… I’m your summer whore… break me good…

Damián grabbed her hips with both hands, fingers digging into the wet flesh, and sped up. Brutal, deep, savage thrusts that made the entire table and the glasses on the dresser tremble. Mariel’s moans grew louder, more broken, almost animal.

—Ah… ah… ahhh… you’re breaking me… more, come on, harder… yesss…

The anal pleasure rose through her like a heavy tide. Mariel felt every deep brush, every time the cock filled her completely, rubbing those inner spots that sent her straight into delirium. Her little cock dripped precum nonstop, swinging with every thrust, striking the wooden table.

—I’m gonna come, Damián… —she sobbed—. I’m gonna come just from having your cock inside me… I can’t take it anymore…

Damián slipped his right hand between her legs and grabbed her little cock, squeezing it hard while he kept drilling her mercilessly.

—Come, little whore. I want to feel you clench around me.

The orgasm hit her like a collapse. First a deep anal climax that made her ass clench so hard Damián growled. Her legs shook uncontrollably. At the same time, her little cock started gushing, splattering the side of the table and the pine floor. The pleasure was so intense that her vision blurred for a few seconds, leaving her only moaning through convulsions.

—Ahhh… I’m coming all over… nghhh… yes, yes, yes!

Damián roared against her nape and emptied inside her. Thick, burning streams flooded her ass, overflowing with every final thrust. They stayed stuck together, sweaty, panting, unable to pull apart.

***

Outside, the elevator screeched again on some floor. A door slammed shut. Someone shouted from the sidewalk, voice thick with anger:

—Stop fucking like dogs, the whole block can hear you, you motherfuckers!

Mariel let out a weak, exhausted laugh, still with his cock inside her, feeling the semen dribble down her thighs.

—Fuck them —she murmured, eyes closed—. If they don’t like it, they can move. I’m going to keep spreading my ass on every floor of this building until summer ends.

Damián laughed, biting her shoulder.

—On every floor?

—On every floor. Starting with the second, where you live. Tomorrow at this time, I’m warning you. I’ll come down in my camisole and you’ll open the door without asking questions.

—You look crazy.

—I’ve got a crazy ass, daddy. There’s a difference.

He ran a sweaty hand over her waist and bit her neck. Mariel shivered and felt how his cock, still inside her, began swelling again slowly.

—You really going to take another one? —she murmured—. In this heat you’re going to die.

—If I die, I die inside you. I can’t think of a better place.

Mariel gave a soft laugh and pushed her hips back, feeling him grow again. The blue camisole, already torn to shreds against her chest, ended up on the floor.

***

That same night, around midnight, the heat was still unbearable. The city refused to give in. The few privileged people with air conditioning hummed in the darkness. The rest slept with all the windows open, waiting for a miracle breeze that never came.

Mariel was sitting on the balcony again, now in tiny shorts and an old T-shirt that hung huge on her. She had a glass full of ice in her right hand and was running a cube over the back of her neck, over her cleavage, between her tits. The ice melted before it could get down.

Damián’s voice came from the second floor, this time without shouting, almost in a whisper, as if he knew she would hear him anyway.

—Mariel.

She leaned out.

—What’s up, neighbor?

—You coming down?

—You inviting me to something?

—I’m telling you the door’s open. And I’ve got a bucket of ice. And no clothes on.

Mariel smiled against the glass. The ice dripped through her fingers.

—I’m coming.

She went down the stairs barefoot, feeling the mosaic still warm under her feet. She passed the fourth floor, where a couple was fighting and screaming. The third, where the TV was roaring with an old soccer match. She reached the second and pushed Damián’s door open with one finger.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen, leaning against the open fridge, letting the cold hit his bare back. He had an ice cube in his hand and his cock already semi-hard.

—Come here.

Mariel went over. Damián pressed the ice cube to her neck and dragged it down her chest until it disappeared beneath her shirt. She panted.

—Take that off.

He took off her T-shirt, her shorts, her thong. He laid her on the kitchen table, still cold from contact with the inside wall. He ran the ice over her tits, over her belly button, over her little cock that was already hard again. Mariel arched.

—Don’t do this to me, Damián… you’re killing me…

—I want to watch you die.

He shoved a cube into her ass. Mariel screamed, laughed, dug her nails into his shoulders. The ice melted right away, leaving a stream of icy water running down her groin and mixing with the sweat that began to bead again.

Damián turned her over on the table and opened her again, easier than before, still loose from the afternoon. He entered her in one push, all the way in, and she howled against the cold wood.

—Ahhh… daddy… slower, I’m cooked from the heat… —she panted.

—You asked for war. Take it.

And he started moving again, rhythmic, deep, unhurried, letting each thrust pull a different moan out of her. Mariel felt the cool table against her tits and the thick cock burning her from the inside. The combination was going to split her brain in half.

—I’m gonna end up dead… —she murmured, face pressed flat against the wood—. Tomorrow I won’t be able to sit down…

—You won’t have to sit. You’ll be face down in my bed until summer’s over.

Mariel gave a weak, exhausted laugh, melting.

—Deal.

Damián sped up. The kitchen filled again with the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin. Mariel’s moans bounced off the tiles. Outside, someone shouted again. This time nobody answered.

When Damián came inside her for the second time that evening, Mariel had already lost count of the orgasms. She lay sprawled on the table, ass open and dripping, eyes closed, smiling against the wood.

—Damián.

—What?

—Tomorrow you’re coming up. You owe me a ride in that shitty elevator.

—I’m coming up.

—And bring ice.

—I’ll bring it.

Outside, summer kept going. The building creaked, the elevator screeched, the city sweated. And on every floor, at every hour, Mariel was already planning how they were going to endure the rest of February without going completely insane.

Or going insane, but together.