The rhythmic tempo.

1am. I've just begun drifting, the cat beside me, after pondering about writing.

The soft moan would never have been heard were it not for the darkened quiet. It's brief, but deliciously feminine, and when it's followed by a few gentle thumps from the ceiling of my bedroom, I smile. There had been a small party upstairs earlier in the evening with giggling and laughing. Their foreplay would have happened as I was preparing for sleep. As I cleaned my snake's cage, she was kissing him. As I spoke on the phone to Biting Tina about dinner tonight, she was sucking his cock.

They are so lovely, the women upstairs. Two at last count, possibly three, including a fit and trim brunette and a smiling blonde with a spankable, heart-shaped derriere. They're both friendly 'n cool. Last summer, they held a party on the back patio, and the brick walls were playfully scrawled with chalk reading, "Gin! More gin! Gin, the panty remover!" They're a riot.

I still do not know whose chambers it is that are right above my own. Sometimes I enjoy not knowing.

Almost immediately, the gentle thumps become insistent. His tempo quickly shifts from andante to vivace, and as a man, I know that means that he's fucking her deeply, the full length of his cock pummeling into her hard and fast. He's showing no quarter. Only his pelvis repeatly pounding against her inner thighs would make her bed shuffle so quickly, the mattress descending firmly enough to shudder their floor and the adjoining wall with his rhythm. For such a heavy downward stroke, he must be on top. I picture her legs wrapped around his waist.

But it's only the pumping I hear. She's quiet. Housemate modesty? But the fucking that she's getting is solid, confident, steady. She's getting taken. Her eyes must be screwed tight as she resists crying out because his cockhead is meeting her cervix with every rapid stroke. And then her moan. It's brief but deep, and silence soon follows. They're cuddling.

I drift into sleep, my cock rigid and thick, the cat purring contentedly.

7am. I've just begun waking, the cat beside me, emerging from a dream about painting.

The room is blue with morning, and my eyes open at the sound of more music from above me. The bed is moving again. The tempo is a little slower, a little more casual following last night's hunger and insistence, but the passion is still evident. After sleep, my guess is that she's more relaxed because she's much more vocal now, moans and gasps and whimpering cries echoing quietly.

The movement of her bed 'feels' more horizontal than vertical, so as I listen and as my awakening cock begins to swell against my thigh, I'm sensing that she's climbed on top of him. Did she awake first and begin to suck his dick? I remember having been awaken in such a way, and how Diva would climb on top of me for her pleasure.

Is her chest pressed to his? As he hardens for her, I picture her reaching for his rigidness underneath her as she straddles him on the wayward sheets, guiding his cockhead into herself, her hair tussled from sleep. I picture her laying upon him, his hands holding her supple ass as he fucks her from below. Now who is taking whom?

The bed shifts repeatedly above me, and her moans are delicious to hear. Now fully awake, I start to stroke myself as I completely enjoy her throaty pleasure. He's silent, the bed stops moving, but her groaning continues. I see her grinding herself down to him, her hips circling, her pussy getting filled as his cock swirls deeply in her depths.

And then, for the first time, a manly groan. He's cumming. He's cumming inside her. It falls to quiet, and then giggling, and then the tender thrum of lover's talk. I hear feet pad from a bed across the floor. I hear the upstairs shower go on.

I pull myself from the bed, my cock rigid and thick, the cat mewling for breakfast.