One Step from Heaven

Story Info
Divorced man finds new home in CFNM building.
8.1k words
4.53
81.2k
28
Share this Story

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

"Can I help you?" The voice, metallic and vaguely feminine, issued from a silver grill set flush into the blank concrete wall. George was a little taken aback. He'd dropped in to check on apartment vacancies. The building looked nice from the outside, over twenty stories of concrete and glass thrusting like the Tower of Babel from the hills below Washington Park. He imagined that the view must be incredible, overlooking the entire cityscape. A small sign attached to the façade discretely announced "Sinclair Towers Adult Apartment Homes." It looked classy, sounded inviting. The entryway, however, was daunting, and whoever guarded the door wasn't exactly rolling out the red carpet.

"My name is George,"" he announced a little too loudly. "I'm looking for an apartment and wondered if you have any vacancies." He could hear his words bouncing from wall to wall in the small entry. He mentally added, "I'm tired and my feet hurt and I only have a couple more days before I have to start moving, so right now a little patience and charm would go a long way towards selling me on your building."

"One moment." The reply was almost abrupt. The silver grill clicked loudly and fell silent. George examined the entry while he waited: olive green walls, forest green carpet; wide, strong-looking steel door painted some version of teal; one silverish grill, perhaps six inches wide and ten inches high, mounted flush into the wall next to the door, with a large black button underneath and a plastic label directing 'push to call.'

George tried not to slouch, because it made his back ache. He really was tired. He'd come to this neighborhood to look at apartments that were advertised in the local paper, but found nothing suitable in his price range. What he wanted, what he needed, and what he could afford seemed to bear no relationship to each other and didn't appear particularly interested in getting acquainted. So he'd wandered on foot, loathe to give up the one parking spot he'd found within a half mile, looking, talking, touring. The advertisement that brought him to this part of town promised cheap living in a good neighborhood. And the place was affordable, but too much like a Navy barracks: similar construction, similar design, similar paint scheme. As a retired Navy helicopter technician, George had seen enough cinder block to last him three life times.

Others with 'vacancy' signs displayed were attractive but expensive. Some older red brick buildings offered affordable room but no parking or laundry facilities. This building was his last stop before trying a different neighborhood. It looked nice, it appeared to have a parking garage, it was probably sky high rent or even condominiums that sold for seven figures, but he decided the only guarantee was that if he didn't ask he'd never know. So he looked at the olive paint and tried not to slouch while waiting for the intimidating steel door to open. Instead of opening it buzzed, a long, loud, obnoxious note so irritating that he reflexively grasped the handle and pulled just to stop the noise. The heavy door resisted his tug until he planted his feet and pulled hard. It finally gave and swung smoothly toward him, granting his first ever view of Eden.

The green motif of the entry was carried through here in living color, for George gazed on an indoor garden with lush greenery, winding paths, meandering streams and a small waterfall in the distance. His cheeks were caressed by cool air that hinted of flower beds and sunshine. Glancing up, George noticed there were indeed skylights and mirrors, bringing natural sunlight into this indoor paradise. Then a small figure stepped into the path to his left and drew his attention.

The first thing he noticed was the dress, a bright Hawaiian print that seemed to belong in this garden. The tiny, exquisite woman wrapped within certainly did justice to her surroundings. Her five and a half feet left her still a half foot under George, and several of those inches were heels under her perfectly formed feet. She was dark in all ways: long black hair, black almond eyes, skin like dark toast. George immediately pictured melting butter, and his mouth began to water. Dark red lips and crimson nails completed the package. George guessed her as a Phillipina-Hawaiian cross, combining the incredible exotic beauty of both.

"Hi, George." She smiled, showing dental poster teeth, and offered him her hand. "I'm Leilani, it's good to meet you."

Never much of a socializer, George's meager skills had all but died during twenty years of sweaty labor on Navy ships. He grasped Leilani's hand, squeezed lightly, gave it a single, too-effusive shake, and snapped a quick bow from his waist. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled. His mind was already retreating out the teal steel door, because this woman was too gorgeous and this place was too luxurious and there was no way the rent he could afford would pay for this lifestyle. He saw a cloud pass behind Leilani's professional smile. 'I'm out of my league here, and she knows it,' he thought. 'I won't need to find the door, she'll show me the way out in about thirty seconds.' He released her hand and stood upright and smiled despite himself. He felt like he was ten years old again, staring at his Christmas bicycle, but he couldn't help it. The smile was just there.

"You're looking for an apartment?" Leilani inquired.

"Yes," George explained, "I've been looking for several days now. I was in the neighborhood looking around, and thought your building looked nice." Her smile brightened, and so did his in response. "It is very nice, but from what I see here it's probably well out of my price range," he continued. "I'll need to stick to a strict budget for the next few years, so I wasn't looking for this kind of luxury. I'm sorry if I've wasted your time."

"Oh, not at all," Leilani reassured. "Come have a seat and let's see if we can find something that would suit you." She turned and led him along a side path a few meters, then stepped aside and indicated a table and several chairs on a tiny flagstone platform. "Would you like a drink?" she inquired. "Coffee, chilled water?"

George was suddenly aware how dry his throat had become while walking the streets. "Cold water would be great," he said. He watched as she turned and disappeared behind a dwarf palm. The flowered print dress clung and slid enticingly about her hips. He wondered how that smooth cloth would feel under his hands as she turned and moved. If they were dancing, would he be able to keep his hands on her hip bones, or would they fall to cup that delectable ass? No, he wouldn't allow himself to feel her ass on the dance floor because once he got his hands under those cheeks he'd be lifting her up and into himself, spreading her thighs so they could wrap around him and start a different dance altogether. How would her breasts feel? Hard to tell the way the dress hung, and so much depends on the bra anyway. But the size wouldn't matter as long as there was something there to pull against his chest, to press on him softly yet strongly, to promise delights to come, to make his mouth water and his blood rise and his balls grow heavy.

Shit, he was still waiting for the divorce to become final, but the old lady had cut him off almost a year ago and he was going fucking nuts here and this was a business meeting so he'd better be all about business, and his cock was swelling and shifting in his pants and this woman was so gorgeous she'd probably been hit on so many times that saying "NO" was like stepping on ants to her and then his pee hole caught on a seam in his underwear and he damn near jumped out of the chair from the pain. He squirmed, trying to adjust his cock without reaching inside his pants, but it wasn't working. It fucking HURT, but it didn't make the swelling go down. He felt like he was fourteen again, being called to the front of the class but he's sitting there with six inches of pink marble in his pants. The curse of the teenage years still visiting over twenty years later. It almost made him long for old age, when his cock would stay reliably limp for at least most of any given day.

George broke into a nervous sweat, glancing around to see if he dared to adjust himself. No one in view -- make it quick and it'll be okay. He slouched in the chair to ease his access, pulling his waistband out with his left hand and snaking his right hand inside his trousers to grasp his tumescent member and free it from the seam.

"Here you go," Leilani said with her Island lilt. George's head snapped up as she placed a bottle of spring water on the table before him. Their eyes met, then hers dropped quickly to his lap where his right hand was inside his pants, wrapped around an obviously engorged penis. Barely pausing, her gaze bounced back to his eyes. She blinked. George blushed so hard he feared the skin was going to explode off his face. He yanked his penis to the side, dragging his pee hole across the offending seam and sending bolts of pain through his lower body. He gasped and reflexively twisted his hips to change the angle of his dangle, then lurched his hand out of his pants and onto the table top. His left hand released the waist band of his pants and underwear. The elastic slapped into place with an audible 'snap,' trapping the delicate head against his abdomen. Leilani blinked again, her smile frozen in place but her eyes both startled and quizzical.

"I.... Uh .... Sorry .... Binding," George stuttered. He dropped his gaze to the table, then to the obvious bulge in his lap. He pushed himself erect in his chair, shifted his weight, crossed his legs and drew his arms into his lap to hide his condition. 'As if,' he thought ruefully, 'she hasn't already caught me with my hand down my pants holding my fucking hard on.' He could feel the burn in his face. Sweat seemed to explode out his pores.

"Well," Leilani said. George swallowed noisily. Leilani swallowed gracefully, her throat pulsing like an exotic dance between delicate lines of muscle, and George pictured those throat muscles massaging his cock and if it was possible for a middle aged man to become harder or more embarrassed he pulled it off between two ticks of the clock. Leilani stepped back and seated herself across the table from him. George wanted desperately to just stand and leave, but that would mean giving Leilani a one gun salute because his pants wouldn't hide his condition when he rose. In fact, with her seated and looking at him, his crotch would be at her eye level when he rose. 'So,' he wondered, 'is this Eden, or is it the vestibule of Hell?'

"You're, uh, looking for an apartment?" Leilani asked. George nodded. He didn't trust his voice after the attempted explanation, desperately needed a drink but didn't dare remove his arms from guard duty over his crotch. He watched the tiny pool of condensation gather at the base of the bottle. Luckily the table top was beaded glass, there would be no ring on fine wood. No doubt she'd expected he would hold the bottle and drink as they talked.

After several seconds of silence, she said "So how did you hear about Sinclair Towers?"

George cleared his throat. He looked longingly at the water, then met Leilani's gaze. "I was in the neighborhood looking at other places, but couldn't find anything suitable," he said. "This looks like a nice building, I thought I'd give it a go. I realize you don't have a sign out for vacancies, but I figured if you never go, you never know. Right?" He gave her a weak smile. She raised her eyebrows in response.

"So you don't know anything about Sinclair?" she asked.

"No, as far as I can tell you don't advertise," George answered. She nodded affirmatively. "I'm moving here from California, so I don't have any local rumor mill to rely on." She smiled.

"That would explain the nice tan," she said. Now George smiled shyly. He was never comfortable with compliments from attractive women. He always seemed to take them the 'wrong way,' and then they would take his response the wrong way and then he would find himself dealing with the receding backside of an offended attractive woman.

"Thanks," he murmured. "It's kind of a natural part of living in California I guess. I don't even notice it anymore."

"Are you looking for just yourself, or would there be others with you?"

"I'll be living alone," George stated. "I'm in the early throes of a painful divorce, and I'm kind of running for cover and coming here to lick my wounds."

"Hmmm," Leilani said with a nod. "So what kind of apartment are you looking for?"

"I'd love to have two bedrooms, with a washer and dryer, and covered parking. Oh, and a view of something besides my neighbor's window," George said. Leilani's smile brightened. "But I've about concluded that I don't have the budget for that much apartment."

"Well, let's see if we can match you up with something," she said. "We have a two bedroom just newly vacant. It includes one parking space inside the garage, a washer and dryer, and is on the twentieth floor with a view across the river to Mount Hood. It really is quite fabulous."

"Well, yes, it sounds wonderful," George answered uncomfortably. "But that's just the problem. I know those kinds of apartments aren't cheap, and I'm on a strict budget, so again I don't want to waste your time if there's just no way I can afford it."

"I understand your concern of course," Leilani reassured him. "How about if we take a quick look at the apartment, and if you like it then we'll talk turkey? There are some circumstances where we can work with the rent, and you sound like you might qualify. So let's take a look, and then take it from there, okay?"

"Uh, I uh ..." George started to blush again. He vaguely waved a hand over his still distended crotch, hoping she'd get the message. She did.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Leilani said with a casual smile. "I'll just take it as a compliment and we'll pretend that everything is normal, okay? Shall we go up?" George swallowed, nodded, grabbed the water bottle in his left hand and stood. He glanced down at his crotch. Maybe it wasn't really noticeable? Not a chance, he realized. The bulge was prominent. If he wasn't careful he was going to have a soft pink helmet peeking out of his waistband like a soldier peering over a parapet. When he lifted his eyes, he noticed that Leilani had also been staring straight at his bulge. Their eyes met. She smiled, drawing one slender hand to her soft belly as if to calm butterflies, then turned to lead him back through the garden. "The elevators are this way," she announced over her shoulder as he disentangled his feet from the chair legs and hurried to follow.

Chapter 2

The elevator carried through the jungle garden theme, with mirrors etched in floral patterns and sounds of birds and running water piped in under soft background music. George felt like everywhere he looked he saw variations of green. The color of money, he thought. Wherever his eye paused, he saw something he couldn't afford. He was embarrassed to have to continue telling Leilani he couldn't afford to rent in her building, but standing beside her now with a raging hard on certainly eclipsed any other reasons for embarrassment.

As the elevator rose, Leilani stood with casually superb posture, apparently totally relaxed. George tried to think non-sexual thoughts as he watched the numbers count through the floors. He imagined being back on the flight deck of the USS Enterprise, with ninety six pounds of chains and hooks slung over his shoulders, running as fast as a whip-thin one hundred and forty pound man could while hauling a hundred and twenty pounds of clothing and equipment around with him. It was hard, but it definitely built stamina. 'Course there was the other long-term effect, shins scarred from those same chains after they were attached and tightened. Moving about the deck at night while working on aircraft, the sixteen tie down chains that strapped each helicopter to the deck hid in deep shadows like poisonous snakes, tightened till they hummed like piano wires, waiting in silent malevolent glee for some impatient human to step too close to an aircraft and find himself running full-bore into twisted steel. On a bad night, he'd take chains across the shins three or four times. Later, in the communal showers, he'd spend minutes spraying dried blood from his legs. Sometimes it would have run down and stained his socks. He hadn't known it at the time, but the marks from those shin-bashings would stay with him for years.

Quick cock check: half mast. Progress is good. But thinking about his cock brought the entire situation to mind, including why he'd gotten hard in the first place, and once again he could detect the tiniest hint of Leilani's scent. Without thinking, he glanced to the side and noticed how the fabric of her flowered dress stretched across her breasts as she stretched her arms behind her to brace against the back rail. And just as unselfconsciously she returned his glance and smiled. As he returned the smile, her gaze dropped to his crotch then skipped away. Was it his imagination or did she seem disappointed? Had to be his imagination. Had to be. He'd fear he was losing his mind, except that the big head didn't seem to be entirely in charge here in the first place.

The elevator suddenly slowed. George felt his stomach rise. It seemed like his heels almost floated off the floor as the tiny car stopped. The light over the door showed '16.' When the doors opened, a small elderly woman tapped her way into the elevator, leading the way with her wooden cane. Her hair was brilliantly silver with vaguely purple highlights. Her skin looked like it had formed from lava flows in the Pleistocene. She wore sensible shoes and opaque support hose under her navy suit. The frill on the front of her white blouse somehow managed to look severe, but her eyes twinkled like a ten year old in an ice cream store. George was aware that Leilani's smile had widened.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Johnson," Leilani said. "you're looking very well today."

"Well as always," the old woman replied. She turned her gaze pointedly towards George, noticeably looking him up and down. "Is this a new resident?" she inquired. As she spoke, she leaned into the front corner and lifted a wizened finger to push the top-most button on the elevator panel, marked 'garden.' George hadn't noticed it before, but now he wondered if the roof was the garden, what was the entry?

"This is George, Mrs. Johnson," Leilani introduced him. "He's looking at the unit on twenty.

"Oh, yes, I know that unit well," the older woman responded. "Good man, David. On his way to Italy I hear, going to study sculpture or something." Leilani smiled and nodded. "We'll all miss him I'm sure. How about this one?" The old woman waved her cane vaguely in George's direction,. "Do you think he'll do?"

"Well, we haven't even seen the apartment yet, let alone discussed the details," Leilani replied. "From what I've seen so far though, it looks like George might fit in here very well." Although her voice remained perfectly cultured, it seemed to George that her smile turned a little mischievous for an instant, then became soft again. For his part, George wondered what he might have said or done that indicated he could be a good candidate for this building. It was obviously far over his budget, and he'd spent most of his few minutes here so far trying to deal with a runaway erection. Neither situation was likely to earn him high marks as a future resident of an obviously very upscale apartment tower.

"Humph," Mrs. Johnson said. "Hard to tell under the circumstances." And with that remark George thought he saw her turn slightly and stare straight at his crotch. But she was a wrinkled woman in her late seventies, with purple hair, support hose, and a conservative business suit. He had to assume she was interested in just about anything but his body. Popping a woody over Leilani was embarrassing but perhaps understandable, but how fucking perverted would he have to be to think this Queen Victoria look-alike had focused her eyeballs on his still-bulging package? Women her age didn't do shit like that. Most men his age wouldn't even imagine it. But not him. Oh no, here he was in an elevator with one of the sexiest women he'd ever met, and one of the oldest. And he was popping wood imagining being with the young one, and imagining being stared at by the old one.