He finds less than expected.

Jack entered the small lobby of Vicky's apartment building, his bare feet padding silently across the linoleum floor. The air smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something muskier underneath—probably the ghost of countless hurried hookups in the stairwell over the years.

Seeing nobody in the front office or at the mailboxes, Jack strode toward the stairwell—no point waiting for the elevator when he didn’t know which floor to start on. His cock twitched in anticipation as he pushed through the heavy fire door, the echo of his footsteps bouncing off the concrete walls.

Halfway up the first flight, a pair of sneakers comes into view as they descend the stairwell—white Air **** Ones with scuffed soles and neon pink laces. The legs attached to them are toned and tanned, the hem of basketball shorts riding high enough to reveal the soft crease where thigh meets hip.

Jack stops mid-step just as their owner rounds the landin. A girl with sharp cheekbones, buzzed-sides under dyed platinum waves, and a nose ring glinting in the fluorescent light. She freezes too, her grip tightening around the gym bag slung over her shoulder. For a second, they just stare, her dark eyes flicking down his body, lingering on his erection with an unreadable expression.

Jack grins,reaches out and tugs her running shorts down. "Wouldn't you be less restricted if you workout like this?" he says as the shorts fall to her ankles revealing her bare, glistening pussy. The scent of arousal hits his nose instantly, she'd clearly been touching herself before heading out.

The girl, early twenties, septum piercing glinting, doesn't flinch. Just cocks her hip and exhales through her nose. "Like I don't get enough stares at the fucking gym," she mutters, but steps out of her shorts as Jack holds them. Her thighs shine with sweat.

"Why are you so sweaty if you haven't worked out yet?" Jack asked, running his fingers up her inner thigh and collecting moisture on his fingertips. He brought them to his lips, salty, musky, definitely more than sweat.

The girl rolled her eyes but spread her legs wider when Jack's other hand found her clit. "Because I was edging in the shower for twenty minutes before my roommate banged on the door about—oh fuck—about borrowing my sports bra." Her head tipped back against the stairwell wall as Jack's fingers circled faster. "Didn't even get to finish."

She stares for a breath at her shorts in your hand, "Any chance I can have those back? I don't care if you see but I'd rather not give the meat heads at the gym a free show." She reaches for them just as you toss them down the stairwell.

"You can have them back but first you'll have to retrieve them." Jack smirked, watching her shorts flutter down the stairs.

The tattooed girl blinked slowly, not angry, just mildly inconvenienced before shrugging. "Fine I guess. Least I get them back." She turned to descend the stairs, her bare ass flexing with each step. Jack didn't move, admiring the way the dim stairwell lights caught the sweat glistening between her cheeks.

Halfway down, she bent at the waist to scoop up her shorts, giving him an unobstructed view of her glistening folds. She took her time, stretching her hamstrings, and rolling her shoulders before finally snagging the fabric with her toes and flipping it up into her waiting hand. "You're lucky I like an audience," she called over her shoulder, shaking out the shorts before stepping into them. The cotton clung to her damp skin as she yanked them up, the waistband snapping against her hipbones with a thwip.

Jack watched her disappear around the landing below, the echo of her footsteps mingling with the distant hum of a refrigerator somewhere in the building. The stairwell smelled like old linoleum and her citrus body wash. He scratched his erection absently,still hard, but no longer urgent before continuing upward.

The second floor hallway greeted him with cheap fluorescent lighting that made everything look slightly too bright. Beige walls, beige carpet, beige doors spaced at precise intervals just like the cobwebs. "Geeze Vicky I knew you said the place was affordable but this?" Jack muttered to himself.

"Guess I'll start with 2B," Jack muttered, his bare feet padding down the hall. The carpet fibers tickled between his toes. Cheap shit, probably hasn't been vacuumed since the Bush administration. He paused outside the first door, cock twitching at the muffled sounds of a reality show argument leaking through the wood.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Jack waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his dick bouncing slightly with the motion. The TV volume inside dropped abruptly, heavy footsteps approached, and the door swung open revealing a middle-aged woman in a faded Pink Floyd t-shirt and sweatpants, her bleached blonde hair piled into a messy bun.

She blinked at Jack’s nudity. "Uh... yeah?"

Jack grinned. "Hey, I’m looking for Vicky Addler. Wrong apartment?"

The woman’s eyes flicked down, then back up—slowly. "Uh-huh." She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms under her chest. The motion made her t-shirt stretch tight over surprisingly perky breasts for her age. "You’re either lost or very confident."

Jack reaches forward boldy and slips a hand down the front of her sweatpants without hesitation, fingers sliding through coarse pubic hair before finding slick heat. Her breath hitches but she doesn't stop him. "Confident," he confirms, rubbing circles against her clit with his thumb. "And right now? Really fucking impatient."

Theta materializes beside them with an exasperated sigh. "Jack, statistically speaking—"

"Not now," Jack growls, pressing the woman against the doorframe as she arches into his touch. Her sweatpants slide down thick thighs, pooling at her ankles.

"But Jack," Theta's hologram flickered with exasperation, her arms crossed over her chest though the effect was ruined when Jack reached through her translucent form to tweak the middle-aged woman's nipple. "Jack, I must say your ability to deviate from your main objective is quite impressive. You still have over 20 different options to try."

Theta's form is unnerving when she just stares like that. "Fine if you insist, I'll try not to stay more than say 10 minutes at any given door. Deal?" He punctuates the sentence by sliding two fingers deep into the woman's dripping pussy, curling them upward as she gasps and grips the doorframe for support.

Theta sighs, an impressive feat for a hologram, before vanishing with a glitchy pop. The woman whose name Jack still hasn’t bothered to ask moans loudly as he works his fingers inside her, her thick thighs trembling.

"So you've never seen my friend Vicky? Redhead about this tall." Jack holds his hand up at shoulder-height while his fingers continue pumping into the woman's slick crotch.

She bites her lip, hips twitching forward, whether trying to escape his touch or drive it deeper, even she doesn't seem to know. "Nngh—no, sweetie, I—christ, right there—I mostly keep to myself." Her breath hitches when Jack adds a third finger, stretching her obscenely as she braces against the doorframe. "Oh fuck, you're—you're gonna make me—"

Jack stops just as she goes over the edge, withdrawing his fingers with a wet pop that makes her knees buckle. "Whoops," he grins, watching her slump against the doorframe while her soaked thighs tremble. "Got carried away. You were saying?"

The woman moans softly as her fluids trickle down her inner thigh, her legs shaking from the near-release. "I was saying—" She pauses, swallowing hard as Jack drags his wet fingers down the front of her T-shirt, smearing her slick arousal across the fabric. "That I don’t know... a Vicky."

Jack clicks his tongue. "Shame." He leans in, pressing his lips to her flushed neck while his free hand slips beneath her shirt to knead her soft breast. "Guess I'll have to try the next door. See ya around?"

The woman whimpers—half frustration, half **** amusement—as Jack pulls away, leaving her shirt damp with her own slick and her nipples painfully hard against the fabric. "You're a menace," she breathes, watching his cock twitch in anticipation as he steps backward down the hall.

"Guilty." Jack winks, turning toward the next identical beige door. Behind him, he hears her door click shut, followed by the unmistakable sound of her muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of a couch. One down, he thinks, only five or twenty-four to go.

Next up apartment 2D, Jack raps his knuckles against the cheap hollow-core door with a smirk. The door doesn't budge and no sound answers your knock. He knocks again, harder this time, still nothing. Jack glances down at his erection bobbing impatiently before him, then shrugs. "Guess nobody's home. Oh well, on to the next."

2E, 2F, 2H, 2I, 2J, 2K, and 2L all had the same response. "Where the hell is everyone?" Jack grumbled, scratching his balls as he stared down the empty hallway. The only sign of life had been the middle-aged woman in 2B. Now undoubtedly sprawled on her couch, fingers buried knuckle-deep in her soaked cunt, replaying Jack’s tease in her head.

Theta materialized mid-air with crossed arms. "Population density suggests statistically that they all aren't occupied first. Second, it's nearly midday Jack. Third, it's still Monday. Who is really home at this hour?"

Jack scratched his chin, watching a bead of sweat roll down the valley between his pectorals. "People with flexible schedules? Unemployed folks? Nightshift workers? Horny college girls taking gap years?"

Theta's hologram flickered like an irritated lightbulb. "You're describing your own wishlist, not statistical reality."

Jack grinned, rolling his shoulders as he sauntered toward the stairwell—his cock swinging like a pendulum with each step. "Fine, fine. Let’s hit the third floor. I'm fairly certain that number was a 3 anyway."

The stairwell smelled faintly of mildew and stale cigarettes. "Doesn't this place have a janitor?" Jack muttered, running a hand along the rust-speckled railing as he ascended.

The third floor was am exact copy of the second. Beige everywhere, must have been on sale. Jack sighed as he walked down the hall, running his fingers along the wall. At least the carpet was cleaner, though that didn't mean much when his bare feet were already filthy from the walk over.

"Alright, let's start with 3B," Jack mused, stopping in front of the first door. He leaned close, listening, nothing but the hum of an AC unit. He knocked twice, hard enough to make the cheap wood rattle.

Silence. "Don't tell me this floor is just as empty," Jack groaned, drumming his fingers against the peeling paint of 3B's doorframe. His erection bobbed impatiently.

Theta flickered into existence beside him, arms crossed. "Perhaps if you'd stop treating this like some pornographic scavenger hunt—"

Jack silenced her with a lazy wave before moving to the next possibility. At 3D, he heard a TV playing inside. Some guy babbling on about Roswell and government conspiracies. Jack smirked, either a UFO nut or some burnout stoner. Either way, probably not Vicky. Still, he knocked. Twice. Hard.

The TV volume dipped. Footsteps approached. The door swung open to reveal a dude who looked like he needed sleep two weeks ago. Dark circles under his eyes, a ratty tank top, and cargo shorts hanging off his hips. His gaze drifted downward immediately.

"Uh," the guy said, blinking at Jack’s erection like it was a math problem he couldn’t solve. "You selling something?"

Jack leaned against the doorframe, letting his cock twitch conspicuously. "Nah. Just looking for my friend Vicky. Redhead about this tall"—he held a hand at shoulder height—"Sound familiar?"

The guy scratched his stubble. "Dude, I don’t...wait." His bloodshot eyes narrowed. "You mean Victoria from 3F? The one with the—" He cupped his hands in front of his chest suggestively.

Definitely not Vicky with her perky borderline C cup tits. "Nah that don't sound right but tell me more about this Victoria." Jack mused, looking towards her door.

"Victoria? Oh she's uh..." The conspiracy nut trailed off, suddenly distracted by Jack casually stroking himself. "She's got like, y'know..." He gestured vaguely at his own flat chest, "Big ol' milkers. Like, comically huge. And she's always complaining about back pain and shit."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Back pain from her tits?"

The guy nodded vigorously, his attention torn between Jack's slow hand movements and the paused YouTube documentary about lizard people behind him. "Yeah man, like...gravity-defying big. She's always adjusting her bra straps and groaning about chiropractor bills." He sniffed, scratching at his greasy hairline. "You can actually hear her from the hallway sometimes—'Oh god they're so heavy' and shit."

Jack felt his cock twitch against his palm at the mental image, some poor stacked neighbor groaning under the weight of her own udders while he happened to be in the building. He glanced at Theta, whose projected arms were crossed in silent judgment.

"You're thinking about checking it out," Theta stated flatly.

Jack grinned, squeezing his cock lazily as he leaned against the doorframe. "And you're not stopping me."

The conspiracy theorist blinked, suddenly registering Jack’s nudity fully. His eyes darted down, then back up, mouth hanging open slightly. "Wait, are you—"

Jack cut him off with a lazy smirk. "Yep. And unless you’ve got tits bigger than your neighbor’s under that shirt, I suggest you go back to your show." He pushed off the doorframe, leaving the man staring slack-jawed at his retreating ass, and strode down the hall toward apartment 3F with renewed purpose.

The muffled thump of bass greeted him before he even reached the door. Jack pressed his ear against the cheap wood, grinning when he caught breathy moans layered under the music. No way some chick was home alone listening to porn that loudly which meant—

Jack knocked three times. The music cut out abruptly.

Jack stands there stroking himself as heavy footsteps approached the door. The deadbolt clicked and the door swung inward revealing a mountain of a man. Easily 6'5" with shoulders like a linebacker and tribal tattoos snaking down both arms. His jet-black hair was buzzed short like his stubble. He was dressed only in gray sweatpants clinging to his thick thighs and tenting obscenely at the front.

For a moment they just stare at each other—Jack's hand still lazily pumping his cock while the giant eyed him up and down. Then the man smirked, revealing a gold-capped canine. "You lost, pretty boy?"

"Actually I was looking for my friend Vicky but then I heard about this Victoria lady and had to see her for myself." Jack grinned, tilting his head to peer past the man’s bulk. The apartment smelled like weed, sweat, and sex. "Unless you're her, in which case, damn. Transitions have gotten good."

The man snorted, leaning against the doorframe with one forearm braced above his head, the pose deliberately flexing his biceps. "Not Victoria. She’s busy." His gaze dropped pointedly to Jack’s still-stroking hand. "You always show up to strangers’ doors with your dick out?"

"Only when I know they’ll appreciate the view," Jack shot back, his smirk widening as he gave himself a slow, deliberate stroke—the pre-cum glistening at his tip. The giant’s nostrils flared slightly, his eyes tracking the motion before flicking back up to Jack’s face.

"Look twerp I ain't interested in pretty boys and Victoria ain't home." The tattooed brute scowled, shifting his stance to block Jack's view into the apartment.

Jack shrugged, stepping back with his hands raised, his erection bobbing absurdly at the motion. "Fair enough big guy. Didn't realize this was a private party." His retreat was casual, unhurried, as if getting rejected by a wall of muscle was just part of his morning stroll. The bass from inside pulsed louder when the door closed.

Theta materialized beside him with crossed arms. "You could just ask me where Vicky lives."

Jack rolled his eyes, scratching the base of his cock absentmindedly. "Seriously, where's the fun in that?"

Theta flickered, her holographic form pixelating briefly in frustration. "Your definition of 'fun' involves wasting twenty three minutes knocking on wrong doors and getting turned down by steroid enthusiasts."

Jack grinned, already moving down the hall toward the next door. "Correction: you think it's wasting time. I call it... reconnaissance." He stops at 3H, pressing his ear against the door. Silence.

"And back to empty apartments again," Jack sighed dramatically, rolling his shoulder as he peeled himself off the door of 3H. His cock twitched impatiently, swinging like a pendulum with each idle step. The hallway smelled faintly of stale popcorn and weed—college housing at its finest.

Apartments 3I and 3J are likewise empty. Apartment 3K however has a TV running inside. Jack pauses outside, pressing his ear against the cheap hollow-core door. A news anchor's voice drones about some political scandal. He gives the door a solid 3 knocks.

Inside, the TV volume dips. The sound of bare feet padding across linoleum follows. When the door swings open, Jack is met with a lean college guy, all tousled brown hair and sleep-deprived shadows under his eyes, wearing nothing but stretched-out boxers clinging to his hipbones. His gaze drops immediately to Jack's erection.

"Hey I'm looking for my friend Vicky, know her?" Jack grins, rocking back on his heels just enough to make his cock bounce tauntingly.

The guy blinks twice. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. "Uh." He scratches his chest absently, "Vicky as in... Victoria from 3F? The one with the—" He gestures vaguely at his own chest, indicating size.

"No, not her. Vicky Addler, about this tall, redhead." Jack held his hand up at shoulder-height, enjoying the way the guy's eyes kept flicking down to his dick instead of meeting his gaze.

"Oh, do you mean Vicky in 3P? She works as a delivery driver for Pizza Palace. I never know what shift she takes but she's always way more polite than the other drivers—"

Jack barely heard the rest of the college guy's sentence before pivoting on his heel, his erection swinging like a compass needle toward the correct apartment number now burned into his brain. Theta groaned audibly as he practically sprinted down the hall, bare feet slapping against questionable carpet stains. He slows as he reaches 3P, taking a moment to compose himself, he knocked twice hard. The sound echoes down the hallway, followed by muffled cursing and the clatter of something metallic hitting the floor. The door swings open except it's not Vicky on the otherside.

A woman stands before you and surprisingly you know her. You hadn't seen Caitlin since high school graduation. You remember Vicky said she had to get a roommate but never got a name. You certainly weren't expecting Caitlin to be the roommate, but here she is, dressed in a loose T-shirt and black leggings, scowling at your nakedness. She looks... different. Her once shoulder-length brown hair is now dyed black with blue highlights and shaved on one side, and nose is pierced. She crosses her arms, and Jack finds himself staring at the tattoos peeking out from beneath her sleeves—intricate roses curling up her wrists, disappearing under fabric. Her lips purse as she sizes him up with an unimpressed glare.

"Jack." She says flatly. "Jack Thompson right?" She asks, voice dripping with skepticism, her sharp green eyes flicking between his face and his still-throbbing cock. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Well I had stopped by to see Vicky. She does live here right?" Jack asked, adjusting his cock slightly as he leans against the doorframe. Caitlin doesn't move, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched, looking thoroughly unimpressed by his erection.

"She lives here but she took the morning shift. She won't be back till sometime after 1. So unless you plan to stand there waving that thing around for another..." Caitlin glanced at the microwave clock behind her, "hour and a half, I suggest you fuck off." She then closed the door abruptly in his face.

Jack blinked at the sudden rejection, his cock twitching against the now-closed door. Theta flickered beside him, arms crossed. "See? This is what happens when you prioritize your dick over efficiency."

"Shut up," Jack muttered, pressing his ear against the door. He could hear Caitlin muttering inside, something about "fucking idiot" and "never changes." He smirked, she remembered him. That was something.

Theta’s holographic form flickered with irritation. "Jack, we could have avoided this entire—"

"Jeeze what are you my supervisor?" Jack muttered, stepping away from the door with his hands on his hips. His cock bobbed impatiently between his legs, twitching as if irritated by Caitlin’s dismissal. "Like hell I'm waiting an hour and a half. I bet I can find a way to occupy myself."

Theta rolls her eyes, arms crossed. "You mean distract yourself."