I woke up to a dull thudding sound from somewhere outside. Oh shit. That damn neighbor was at it again. I looked at my clock and saw that it was 9am. My wife Laura groaned next to me. We both work for ourselves and we like to sleep late. But this one guy in our apartment building insists on loudly banging his garbage bin against the dumpster when he empties it each morning.
Laura jumped out of bed in frustration and ran to the window in the skimpy wifebeater that she wears for pajamas when the weather is warm. She yanked open the window and and leaned out to shout down to the courtyard where the dumpster sat.
“Can you please not bang your garbage can like that?” she screamed. “We’ve asked you before about that. We are trying to sleep up here!”
“Shit, put some damn clothes on, you whore,” called back our obnoxious next door neighbor, John. “Your fucking udders are hanging out!”
My wife looked down to realize that her cleavage was fully exposed by her low cut top as she hung out the window and she reddened as she clutched her hand to her chest. “That’s so rude! How dare you!”
“Rude and inaccurate,” I told her, leaning up on one elbow as I watched from the bed. “How any straight man could call those luscious orbs udders is beyond me.”
“You aren’t helping,” my wife hissed at me. She was trying to hold her boisterous boobs in place with both hands. It was fascinating to watch. I got up to join my wife at the window.
“You are one to talk,” she shouted back at our neighbor down in the courtyard. “Look at you in your boxer shorts! You are half naked yourself.”
“I got my privates covered.” The jerk gripped his crotch lewdly. John was a small guy but pretty muscular in a wiry way and he seemed to like showing off his physique.
“Can you people shut the fuck up?” shouted the punk rocker from up in #303. “I’m trying to fucking sleep up here.”
“Get a job, loser!” replied John with a sneer. “Maybe if you got up earlier you could get an interview.”
“I work the nightshift, asshat,” snapped the punk with his head out the window. He ran his hand through his green mohawk, now in flaccid disarray and not standing proudly at attention as it usually did. “So go fuck yourself and shut the fuck up down there with all the shouting.” The punk slammed his window shut.
“Uh, yeah, what HE said,” called Laura before carefully shutting our own window. “The nerve of that guy,” she fumed. “Calling me a whore on top of everything.”
“He’s an asshole, that’s for sure,” I agreed, climbing back into bed.
“I’ve complained to Sharon many times, but she just says that the noise rule only applies from 11pm to 7am,” sighed my wife. She crawled back into bed to snuggle against me. Then she snorted suddenly, “Udders! The nerve!”
“I like your udders,” I whispered in Laura’s soft little ear as I gripped one of them from behind.
“Stop calling them that,” she giggled. Then we fooled around a little and fell back to sleep.
***
“Ugh, look at those skanky whores he’s always dating,” said Laura the next evening. She was peering out the window as John and his latest girlfriend walked up the to building together. As usual, John had a good looking blonde on his arm. As usual, she was dressed like a stripper in a too short dress that was too tight to be classy and teetering on too high heels. “And those skanks are always stinking up the hallway with their cheap perfume, it’s disgusting!” said Laura.
“Try to think of something more pleasant, dear,” I said blandly as I checked out the body on John’s latest conquest. She had tits and ass and a skinny waist and I was starting to get a boner so I cautiously backed away from the window before my wife noticed my arousal. She would get so mad if she saw me getting hot for one of John’s sluts.
“Ugh, that guy just makes me so mad!” said my cute little wife. She stamped her foot in frustration and was clenching her fists. Then she noticed me trying to cover my crotch to hide my erection. “Hey, wait a minute!” She reached out and pulled my hand aside to see the bulge in my pants. “Dammit, you’ve got a hardon! Do guys really like sluts who walk around with their legs and boobies hanging out like that? It’s so TRASHY!”
“Oh, no, no,” I said, waving my hands back and forth. “Guy like nice classy ladies.”
“Very funny, smart guy.” Laura walked over to look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing a button down blouse with khakis like she normally did. “Would you like me better if I showed off more skin?” she asked in a small voice. I could tell she was feeling insecure.
“Aw, come on baby, you look beautiful no matter how you dress,” I said. I rushed over and hugged my wife to console her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Laura received the kiss with equanimity, but she still seemed distressed. “Anyway, I just hate that guy John and I wish he would move out.”
“You sure seem fixated on this guy John,” I said, giving her a sly grin.
Laura glanced at me in confusion and then blushed when she realized what I was hinting at. “Gah, gross! I am NOT fixated on him, he annoys the hell out of me. He’s always banging his garbage bin in the morning, bringing around stinky whores, and generally bringing down the class level of the entire apartment building.”
“Ok, whatever,” I relented, turning back to my kindle book. But I harbored a sneaky suspicion about my wife’s feud with our rude neighbor.
About a half-hour later, Laura stormed into the living room, lividly angry. “Jimmy, Jimmy, come into the bedroom. It’s SO disgusting, I can hear John fucking that tart he just brought in through our bedroom wall.”
I just laughed good naturedly. “Ha, ha, yeah, I think I’ve heard that before. His bed must be right up against the other side of that wall.”
“It’s not funny, Jimmy, it’s repulsive. Can’t people be more considerate when they are having sex? Why advertise it for the whole building to hear?”
“Come on, Laura,” I chuckled. “Be reasonable. People need to live their lives, after all.”
“Still, you have to think about your neighbors,” insisted my wife. She stamped her foot again. “I’m going to go pound on the wall,” she blurted.
“Now hold on, that’s not fair,” I complained. But my wife had dashed off to the bedroom, so I jumped up to follow her.
When I got to the bedroom, my wife was standing close to the wall, listening intently. Sure enough, I could hear a rhythmic tap-tapping of a bed frame against the wall. I could also just make out a woman’s moans of pleasure and occasionally a guttural grunt from John.
“It’s not actually THAT loud,” I said. “I mean we can tell they are having fun, but you don’t have to listen to it if you come out to the living room.”
“Having fun!” spat my wife. “She’s probably faking it. Anyway, I don’t want to hear my neighbor’s coitus. It’s GROSS.” Laura pounded suddenly on the wall, making me jump. “Quiet down over there! We can hear you!” she shouted.
The tapping against the wall did cease for a moment and I nearly broke out in a cold sweat of embarrassment. But then I heard some muffled laughter and the tapping suddenly resumed with renewed vigor, louder and more insistent than ever and the woman’s cries became even MORE plaintive. Laura kicked the wall in resentment and stormed out of the room. I stayed and listened to John fucking his girlfriend for a few minutes. It was kind of hot, actually. In fact, I was about to unzip and start fapping as I listened, but my wife called me back to the living room.
“You really need to calm down about John. You are acting like a jealous lover.” I wagged my eyebrows lewdly at my wife.
“Oh my god, I will KILL you for suggesting that!” Laura’s face reddening as she launched a couch pillow at my head.
I deflected the inbound missile and then there was a knock at the door, which was pretty unusual.
“Must be one of the neighbors,” said Laura, getting up to check the door. She peeked through the peephole. “Oh shit, it’s John,” she said. She put her back to the door and stared at me with fear.
“Well, you better answer I,” I said grimly. “If you act out and throw a hissy fit against the wall, you are going to have to face the music.”
“Ugh,” sighed my wife and then she opened the door. “Can I help you?” she asked stiffly.
John was standing there in nothing but a towel, his hair plastered to his head as though he had just jumped from the shower. “What’s with you, woman? Why are you pounding on the wall while I’m spending time with my lady friend?”
“You were being pretty loud. Don’t you have any consideration for your neighbors?” asked my wife. I peeked around the corner to watch the interaction and I noticed Laura looking down at the bulge jutting from the front of the towel John had wrapped around his waist.
He noticed her looking too, and reached his hand into his towel to grip his dong rudely. “What’s the matter, you wish it was you helping me work the bed springs?” he asked with a wicked grin. “Ain’t gonna happen, sister. At least not if you keep acting like such a bitch all the time.”
“You insufferable PRICK!” shouted my wife in fury. “I can’t believe you think you can talk to me that way!” Laura slammed the door in John’s face and turned to face me, livid with anger. “Did you see that filthy pig touching himself like that? The very idea!”
“You were checking out his package,” I laughed. “I saw you.”
“His vulgar thing was poking out, of course I glanced down,” stammered my wife. “He, he should have put some goddamn pants on before leaving his house, like any normal human being would do.” Laura paced around the room, fanning her face with her hands, trying to calm herself down. She really seemed worked up over the whole thing. I was starting to suspect that she might really have some suppressed desire to grudge fuck John and the idea kind of turned me on. Not that I ever thought she would follow through with it.
But I started to give the idea more credence when my wife suddenly decided to bleach her hair blonde the following day. She had been a brunette for as long as I knew her and had never experimented with coloring her hair before.
“What do you think?” she asked me when she got back from the salon.
“Looks nice,” I said. Then a thought occurred to me. “Your boyfriend John will like it, he’s into blondes I noticed.”
Laura punched my arm with surprising ferocity, making me jump and rub my poor shoulder ruefully. “You pig!” she shouted. “Don’t even JOKE about that. I was, I was, just trying to cover a little gray hair that was starting to show. I, I wouldn’t EVER let that creepy jerk lay a finger on me!”
“Ha, ha, whatever you say, baby, whatever you say,” I said, shaking my head. “Go on and get ready, let’s head out to dinner.”
“Ok, well, I got a new dress inspired by our conversation the other night where you said that men liked women in slutty outfits,” said Laura a bit anxiously.
“Oh, REEE-ALY?” I asked with interest. “Let’s see it.”
My wife giggled nervously and ran off to change. When she came back out, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. She was wearing a tiny halter top dress that exposed her navel. It was really short, only going halfway down her thigh and it barely contained her generous bosom. I popped an immediate boner when I saw her in it. “Oh, you are definitely trying to get on John’s good side with that get up. You look like a stripper!”
“Please don’t mention that disgusting dick again tonight, dear,” said my wife with a wave of her hand. “I’m wearing this for YOU. You really seemed to be attracted to those sluts that uh, he brings around.”
I walked around my wife, checking out her exposed legs and nice round rump, snugly encased in the tight dress. “Hmm, yes, very slutty. I would tap that.”
“Ok, good,” let’s go she said. She seemed sort of excited to be wearing such a scandalous dress out in public. “We better go somewhere with low lighting. I feel a little uncovered in this.”
“That you are,” I laughed. Laura was exhibiting a wild streak I hadn’t seen before and I liked it.
When we were in the lobby, we bumped into John who was just coming in. He stopped short and stared at my wife, doing an obvious double-take. Laura’s head tilted back in smug satisfaction but she dropped it bashfully when she saw that I noticed.
“Don’t even say a word to me,” she told John holding up a hand and looking away from him. “You are a rude jerk and I want nothing to do with you.”
“Ok, bitch, no problem,” he sneered. He was running his eyes up and down my wife’s body hungrily. He saw me watching him check out Laura’s body and he winked at me. “Hey buddy, you shouldn’t let your woman go out dressed like that. Guys are gonna get the idea that your little wifey is down for whatever.”
“I think she might BE,” I joked, returning his wink and making him laugh.
Laura frowned angrily and poked me roughly in the ribs for saying that.
“Hey wait, turn around, let me see something,” he told my wife.
“I’m not showing you anything.” She put her nose in the air haughtily.
“Nah, nah, I think you have something stuck to your back,” he said sincerely.
“Where?” asked my wife, turning her back to him naively and looking over her shoulder.
“Right here,” he said, slapping his hand onto my wife’s ass cheek and giving it a good squeeze.
He wasn’t prepared for her reaction though, when Laura hauled off and punched him right in the nose.
“Dammit!” he yelped. He fell back onto the ground, grabbing his face as blood poured from his nostrils. “What the fuck?”
“That’s what you get for trying to touch me, you FUCKER,” she said. She poked a finger in his face as he cringed away from her.
“Ouch, she’s a little feisty, huh?” I asked. I bent down to slap John on the shoulder. I was a little taken aback by her outburst, but I guess John had it coming.
“Feisty, she’s a fucking psycho, dude!” he cried as blood dripped onto his shirt.
“No, I’m not psycho.” Laura bent over to shake a finger in John’s face and unconsciously treated him to a nice closeup view of her cleavage. “I’m just down for whatever – including punching assholes who try to lay their filthy paws on my booty.”
John was distracted by the sight of my wife’s jiggling cleavage and he couldn’t come up with a clever comeback.
She noticed him looking at her boobs and realized how revealed they were which made her jerk upright indignantly. I just lead her away then before she could throw another fit.
“Well, I guess I showed that jerk!” she said in the car on the way to the restaurant.
“You know, it sure seems that you took particular care to attract his interest with that outfit and the blonde hair,” I said scratching my chin.
My wife went stiff. “I don’t know what you are suggesting. I find that guy completely nauseating.”
“You sure you didn’t try to get him worked up just so you could put him down again?” I asked with a smirk.
“Such a thing would never cross my mind,” sniffed Laura, looking out the window away from me.
“Uh, huh,” I said knowingly.
It turned out that John was right. Guys did take my wife’s sexy outfit as a signal that she was playing the field. Every time I left her alone for a minute, I would come back to find some lothario trying to hit on her. They were clustered around poor Laura in her skimpy dress like bees on honey. I had to chase away businessmen at the restaurant bar. I even had to cockblock the damn valet. Every time I had to get up to take a call or use the bathroom, I would find some new suitor ogling my wife’s knockers and trying to get her number. I thought it was pretty funny, but Laura was a bit overwhelmed.
“My god, I never knew guys would get so excited by seeing a little skin,” she gasped as we drove home.
“Well to be fair, you are dressed like a high class prostitute,” I teased, earning myself another slap.
When we got home, I decided to troll my wife a little more. I found a movie on Netflix about a man and woman who hated each other and fought all through the movie but ended up grudge fucking toward the end. As soon as the sex scene started in earnest, Laura turned off the movie and turned on me wrathfully.
“I see what you are trying to pull,” she said, crossing her arms. “And I don’t think that’s funny.”
“Grudge fuck sex IS pretty hot though,” I told her with a twinkle in my eye. But my wife wasn’t amused and she went off to bed in a huff. Ah well. So much for trolling.
The next morning, John was at it again with the garbage bin, banging away at nine am sharp.
Laura leapt from bed, threw open the window and started shouting at him. I was only half awake, but I heard John call back up something about Laura being a slut and daring her to come down and try to punch him again.
“Oh, yeah, I will show you, you little fucker,” she screamed. More people were opening their windows and calling for them to quiet down, including the punk rocker in #303, and the nice old widow, Mrs. Jones down in #101.
“I’m going down there to punch that jerk right in the chops,” panted my wife. Her dander was up and her cheeks were flushed. She was wearing just her wifebeater again and nothing else. It barely covered her crotch and her erect nipples poked provocatively through the thin material.
“First of all, that’s ridiculous. It would be assault and there are witnesses,” I objected sleepily. “Secondly, you are half-naked. You need to go put some clothes on.”
“No time, no time,” she steamed. And before I knew it, she dashed away. I heard the front door open and close and she was gone.
“Ooh, boy, this is going to be quite a show,” I said to myself as I climbed wearily out of bed to go watch the ensuing fireworks from our bedroom window.
John was standing there tapping his garbage bin against the side of the dumpster. He was wearing just his boxers as usual and he seemed to actually be waiting for Laura to come and confront him. He didn’t have to wait long. Laura came running out into the courtyard in her skimpy t-shirt, tugging self-consciously at the hem with one hand while she shook a finger in his face with the other.
“I’m sick of your bullshit, mister,” she shouted. “You wake everyone up with that pounding every morning.”
“Yeah, tell him, Laura,” shouted the punk rocker. “You’re an asshole, John!”
“Look at you, you fucking slut!” John gestured to my wife’s exposed skin, as one strap of her wifebeater fell off her shoulder. “Go put some clothes on and show some modesty.”
“Ha! You are one to talk,” shouted my wife. “The sluts YOU bring around stink up the hallways with their cheap perfume and parade around like half-naked hookers.”
“That’s right,” chimed in the lovable Mrs. Jones. The old grandmotherly woman leaned out her window as she offered her two cents worth to the conversation. “They prance around like whores!”
“And then they scream like animals while they are having sex,” said my wife. She sneered at John with disgust. “The bed knocks against my bedroom wall.”
“Oh, you are quite right, dear,” agreed Mrs. Jones. “I can hear them making whoopie right across the courtyard here. It’s really shameful.”
“Hmm, is that what this is all really about?” John asked my wife. He was looking her body over with interest. “First you dye your hair since you know I like blondes, now you come down here in that sexy little shirt to show me your body? Gotta admit, it’s pretty slutty.” He started fingering his junk through his shorts absently as he checked out my wife’s figure. My heart started beating faster as I watched from the window. My own cock was getting hard. John was showing some real brass balls to hit on my wife while half the apartment building was watching from their windows.
“Pfft, don’t flatter yourself there buddy,” said my wife, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“Yeah, well, your headlights are showing, and I bet you aren’t even wearing any panties.” John pointed at her prominent nipples poking through her shirt. His cock was fully erect now, pitching a tent in his boxers.