Go to the building superintendent

Jenny isn’t around to help you and your phone isn’t working. You’re pretty sure you’d just bruise your shoulder trying to break down the door.

You decide to go looking for Mr. Rodriguez, your building's superintendent. You have never really clicked very well with him, he is a brusque sort of man and does not speak the best English. Often you have to call him several times to get him to understand what problem you want fixed in your apartment. His wife is even more annoying. She is pushy and openly disrespectful towards you. She has two yappy little dogs that are usually barking in the background when you call down to his apartment.

Despite your misgivings, Mr. Rodriguez is your best bet for help. He has a master key that will unlock any door in the apartment building. You decided to take the stairs down to the basement level. The hallway is gloomier down here and the carpeting is old and ugly. The three units have doors that remind you of industrial doors like you might see in a warehouse.

You find apartment A and are surprised to see the door is slightly ajar. You knock your knuckles on the doorframe. Nothing. You knock again and call out, “Mr. Rodriguez?”

There is still no response. You don’t know what you are going to do if you can’t get back into your apartment. You hate drawing attention to yourself, but you pound your knuckles on the open door and shout, “Hey, Mr. Rodriguez!”

The unlocked door swings open enough that you can see into the cluttered apartment. There are no yappy dogs and apparently no Mrs. Rodriguez either, but you hear a sound coming from the back of the apartment. The bathroom?

You walk carefully through the dark apartment. There is a light on over the kitchen sink and a light seeming to come from a door at the back of the apartment. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. Creeping into someone’s dark apartment is not the sort of thing you enjoy doing, but you refuse to back down. Mr. Rodriguez is probably back there having a shower. He told you his door was open to everyone in the building in case of emergencies. This seems like it qualifies.

You doubt what you are doing all the way to the bathroom door, which is open a few inches. Steamy air filters out into the hallway along with the flowery scent of perfumed shampoo. Your heart is beating out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from pushing your face against the door frame and peering into the steamy bathroom.

Your eyes widen at what you see through the clouds of steam. A slender, golden-skinned, dark-haired woman stands in the shower. She is much too young and beautiful to be Mrs. Rodriguez. Her black hair hangs down the curve of her back as she rinses shampoo out of her hair.

Your cock stiffens at the sight of her firm, round bottom moving from side to side with each twitch of her hips. As she turns, she reveals her golden breasts with the creamy lightness of a bikini tan on her pert breasts. Her nipples are brown, her areolas slightly domed and puffy in the heat of the shower. Behind a curtain of steam, you can even make out the dark triangle of her trimmed pubic hair.

Her lips are parted. Her eyes go wide and you realize she is staring at you. For a moment, you are paralyzed with shock. You expect her to scream, but a weird thing happens.

She smiles at you.

“You must be one of Uncle Paulo’s tenants,” she says, turning back around to once more show you her firm ass. “Give me a second and I’ll be right out.”

You back away from the door and into the hallway. Your cock is painfully hard. You want to run, but your excitement and the way she smiled at you are both telling you to stay. You stumble your way to the couch in the dark living room, nearly knocking over some glass figurines in the process. You manage to not break anything and have a seat. You wait nervously in the dark as the shower shuts off. The light switches on in the hallway and the young woman appears with her hair wrapped up in a pink towel and a matching towel wrapped around her slender body. She is still showing off a lot of leg and a hint of her perky cleavage.

“Hey,” she says. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I, uh, didn’t know where the light was,” you admit.

She switches on a lamp and you see her even better. She has full lips, a feminine roundness to her face, a small, delicate nose, and two of the prettiest dark brown eyes you have ever seen. She looks young. Maybe too young for you to be ogling. Then again, you seem to remember Mr. Rodriguez about a year ago saying something about his niece turning 18 and that being “dangerous.”

She certainly looks dangerous. She smiles at you and begins vigorously drying her hair. She almost sheds the towel from her body in the process and has to stop to grab the knotted tie with one hand and dry her hair with the other.

“So what did you want?” She asks. “Did you need something?”

You’re too flabbergasted by her beauty and lack of concern for being nearly naked to speak. She finishes drying her hair and hangs the towel over the back of a chair, which allows her damp black hair to hang straight down her shoulders and back. A few locks rest on the upper curves of her breasts. She leans forward, over the coffee table, and offers you her hand.

“I’m Bianca, by the way,” she says as you shake her hand. “Staying here for a couple weeks. What was it you needed? Maybe I can help.”

Maybe you should tell her why you were creeping around her uncle’s apartment. Maybe she even knows where he keeps his master key.