Answer it now

Sighing, you go ahead and answer the phone. “Lutz residence,” you say.

“This is Crenshaw,” says the voice on the other end.

Mr. Crenshaw. He’s been your next door neighbor for years. At least once a month he complains about the noise from your apartment. You roll your eyes, knowing what’s coming.

“Yes, Mr. Crenshaw, what can I do for you,” you ask, politely.

“You can tone it down right now is what you can do! Do you have any idea what time of the morning it is? It sounds like you’re playing football in there. Shut the hell up or I’m calling the police again.”

Mr. Crenshaw slams the phone down before you can respond, which is just as well, because instead of words coming from your mouth, it is a surprised groan of pleasure. Vanessa, tired of waiting, backs up, thrusting her ass against your shaft.

You look at the phone in your hand, wondering what to do.