Blake in 506 by Sugar Stone Erotic Story Competition Story 20

This story has been submitted to theFeatured image for competition entry Write an Erotic story competition  if you like it and think it should win Comment below and share

He was a beautiful man.

Ask Petra if you don’t believe me. She was there. It was unseasonably hot, time was short on the van rental, and the lobby was stuffed with boxes yet to be moved to my new flat. We were maneuvering my floppy double mattress into the lift, and Petra was losing her patience. “What have you got in here, bricks?”

“Here, take the bottom,” I said. The lift’s up button chimed and lit up. “Whoever’s upstairs is probably going mental.”

The stairwell door groaned open behind us. I turned and there was Blake.

He was fair, with sandy brown hair and a full, well-groomed beard. He wore tortoiseshell glasses. His grey henley shirt showed off a strong, compact body and a ruff of chest hair.

And he was short. I easily had ten centimeters and two stone on him. Now, I’ve always said big girls and wee men should get together–we try harder–but I’ve chatted up enough to know I’m not on a short man’s radar. To them I might as well be furniture, a big floppy mattress stuck between them and a girl their own height, like petite, gorgeous Petra.

“Oh,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah, sorry,” I said. “Moving day.”

“No worries.” He gestured to the lift. “Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t broken again.”

“It breaks?” asked Petra.

“Sometimes,” said Blake. “But not today, I’m sure.” He crossed his fingers for us. “Can I help with that?”

“No, thank you,” I said. “We’re sorting it.” Clearly we were not sorting it, but we’d been at it two hours, all skinned thumbs and sweat, and it was no time to be introducing a variable, beautiful or not.

He didn’t push. “Sure. I’m Blake. I’m in 506 if anything comes up.”

“Right across the hall, then,” I said. “I’m 503. Anna.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Anna.” He opened the stairwell door. The stiff piston on the back squeaked outward, bumped a stack of picture frames and sent them sliding. Catlike, Blake spun around the door just in time to catch them.

“Stabilized,” he said. “Sorry about that.” He headed up the stairs. “Welcome to the building.”


I turned back to the double mattress. As we walked it backward, Petra mouthed, He’s cute.

“Sure, but look at the size of him,” I muttered, thinking more of the size of myself.

Petra cringed. Too late, I realized how nasty I sounded. I whirled toward the stairwell. The old stiff door was still hanging open.

“Oh, God,” I whispered. “I’m a twat.”

Petra patted my shoulder. “True. But you’re a twat with a van due back by noon,” she said. “Let’s keep moving.”


That night, after all the boxes were in and the van was returned and Petra was pledged gratitude for life, I got cleaned up and baked brownies in my jammies. I played my Netflix queue for a little background noise. It was my first time living alone.

I left a tub of brownies outside Blake’s door across the hall. I was too much of a coward to knock. I just put a note on it: Hope this makes up for hogging the lift. Anna

The next morning there was a note on my door. They were delicious! Thanks. Blake

His handwriting was wild and messy, and in the margin he drew a stick figure of himself eating the brownies. I was so excited I squeaked.

For whatever reason, I didn’t throw the note away. For whatever reason, I left it on the counter. For whatever reason, I thought about him all day at work, and I thought about him all night, and I lay in bed on that queen mattress and slipped a hand down the front of my jammies, imagining scratching his beard and peeling off his shirt. I imagined it was his hand stroking my clit to life, his gentle finger slipping inside, his two hands working me into a back-cracking climax that left me gasping.


The next time I saw him was later that week, again in the lobby. It was just after work and the sun hit the clouds sideways and made everything look dreamy and pink. He was standing at the mailboxes, sifting through his mail. He wore beat-up jeans and a white T-shirt stained with oil.

“Hi, Blake!” I said. I could tell I was smiling too big and talking too loud, like a beauty pageant contestant.

“Evening,” he said. His smile was natural, his voice was soothing, and it put me at ease. That kind of calm was a gift. “How was the rest of the move?”

“A pain. But good. I can almost lift my arms again!” I demonstrated.

He laughed. “Some people pay a lot for that kind of workout.”

“Well, some people are masochists.”

He hit the lift button.

“Thank you again for the brownies,” he said.

“Oh, sure. You made me feel welcome. Not everyone would do that.”

“Well.” He blushed. It was gorgeous. He looked up at me over his glasses and steepled his eyebrows like Becks. Good God. The air between us turned electric. My hand lifted off my purse strap as if it were going to reach out and touch him of its own accord. I wanted to cup the back of his neck and pull him in close, crush myself against his firm body and slip a hand down the front of his jeans. His lips parted as if he were about to speak. Then the lift arrived with a chime, and Blake shut his mouth and stepped in. “Going up?”

“Ah.” I pretended to check my handbag. “You go on. I think I left something in the car.”

He nodded. “‘Night.”


The lift closed. I stood there a moment, hot-faced and unsteady. Surely I wasn’t imagining that. Surely there was something there. I glanced at the stairwell. There’s no way he could hear me say “look at the size of him” and still want anything to do with me. Perhaps he hadn’t heard it at all?

Fishing in my pocket for a coin, I stepped into the stairwell. I let the groaning door shut until it was only a foot ajar. Then I threw the coin into the lobby. It bounced four times–ping ping pa-ping!–and clattered to a halt–kickikakickiakee. If anything, the stairwell acoustics made it louder.



The next time I saw him, he was working on his old banger Nissan in the dim underground garage, his eyebrows drawn down in frustration. Pulling in, I nearly drove over the wheel stop. He wore dirty jeans and a tight gray T-shirt. I wanted to bite him. He lit up when he saw me, though.

“Evening, Anna,” he said. “Unpacked yet?”

“I wish.” I unloaded a pair of boxes from the boot. “Work is crushing me. Could you use a hand, there?”

“I’d love one. Do you mind?”

“It’s only fair to tell you I know nothing about cars.”

“That’s quite all right.”

The issue was something with a new model of battery, and the poles being swapped, and corrosion that needed to be removed and so on. I don’t remember the details. I just remember as we lifted out that ten kilo battery, our shoulders pressed together and his hair brushed my cheek. A fever swept through me. My cunt went wet and achy. He backed off fast, smiling, ignoring the contact, but his touch kept echoing through my brain. I was a starved woman inches from a feast.

As for Blake, he seemed at ease as ever. He stretched his arms and popped his back and suddenly asked, “How tall are you?”

I drew myself to full height. “Hundred seventy-five.”

He stepped closer to me as if to show the difference between us. My knees jellied. Give me just one sign, and I’ll take you right here in the parking deck, I swear to God.

“If I were your height,” he said, “you’d never catch me slouching.”

I blinked. “Well, if you were my size and female, you might not think it was so great.”

He smiled. “Impossible. It’s fantastic”


The next time I saw Blake was in the lobby on a Wednesday night. It so happened we were both wearing button-down shirt and jeans, like a uniform.

“Nice shirt,” he said.

“You, too,” I said.

The lift came and we boarded, but the doors jittered as they closed. “Ugh,” I said. “That’s not good.”

“Probably needs to be serviced again.” Blake’s voice was strained. “I should tell Paul–”

The lift shuddered to a halt. We both braced ourselves on the wall, and I laughed out loud. “Classic.”

Blake wasn’t laughing. He went white as milk.

“We’ll just press this.” I hit the emergency call button. There was a beep and a long silence. “Huh.” I hit it again.

He mumbled something. His eyebrows steepled again, but tense this time. Nauseous.


“I should have taken the stairs.”

“We hit the button. It’s a big city. It won’t be long.”

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. “I’ll call Paul directly.” His hands were shaking too hard to dial. “Fuck.”

“I’ll do it.” I got my own phone out and called. Our landlord’s voicemail picked up. “Yeah, hi, Paul, this is Anna. The lift broke. Me and Blake are stuck. Third floor, I guess? Could use some help as soon as you can. Thanks.” Blake’s forehead glistened with sweat. “Just a matter of time now,” I said.

He edged toward the corner. His usual calm was all spent. “This is embarrassing,” he said.

“No, sir,” I said. “Embarrassing would be if you loved it.”

He smiled some. “What?”

“What if you had a fetish for lifts? You would have this enormous ele-boner. And I’d be stuck in here with you, and I’d be so confused.”

He laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “Claustrophilia.”

“All the terrible, wonderful things we would do.” The thought turned to words before I could stop it. The air between us changed. Blake’s smile vanished. I took his hand and saw the outline of his fat erection running down the thigh of his jeans. Surely I wasn’t imagining it. Surely he wanted me, too. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, face-first. My lips landed on his. In a slow, ghoulish moment, I realized he wasn’t kissing back. I opened my eyes. He was staring back at me, inert, baffled, slightly amused.

Then came a beep from the call box and Paul’s voice. “Anna? Blake?”

“Here we are,” said Blake.

“Okay. It looks like just another bad fuse. I’m gonna switch it and get you going again.”

As the lift doors opened on the fifth floor, Blake got out first and gave me a nod over his shoulder. “Thanks for trying.”

“Of course.” I didn’t know what else to say. He vanished down the hall, leaving me hot and dazed and shaky.


I spent the night in misery. That’s it? That’s all I could come up with? Of course? He always made things comfortable and easy, and the one time I had the chance to do the same for him, I let him down. I pressed my own desires, and he had no interest. How could I come back from that?

I got out my mixing bowl and flicked through my recipe box. Biscuits. Cakes. Muffins. No use. There was nothing in there that said  I’m sorry you’re brilliant and I’m a dumb twat, and I hope we can be friends as soon as I stop wanting to die.

I was in no mood for sex when I went to bed. Yet somehow around three in the morning I dreamed of Blake bending me over the end of the bed. Blake pulling my panties to my knees. Blake’s chest hair prickling my naked back. Blake biting the back of my neck, rubbing my clit from the front with one hand and pressing that fat cock into me with the other.

I woke to a bizarre no-hands orgasm that spasmed for attention. So I sent both hands down for a second go, panties on, knees together, a way that only works if I’m primed to the edge. Beautiful Blake. What wouldn’t I give for a chance at the real thing?


That Friday night, right around ten, the power went out. One second I was unpacking in my jammies, texting back and forth with Petra about what was good on Netflix. The next I was sitting in pitch black and dead silence. City light poured through the living room window, but not enough to get anything done.

Somewhere packed away were my candles and torches. I had no prayer of finding them. I could walk the quarter-mile to chemist’s and buy a new torch. I could give up and go to bed at ten on a Friday. Or I could go knock on Blake’s door.

Fuck it. Time to act like a grown-up. He had the right to say yes or no or fuck off, but I was twenty-four and that was damn well old enough to harden up and ask.

I padded down the hall. I did put my ear to 504, where Linda and Greg Drummond live. No movement in there. I did listen at 505, where the two grad students live. Silence. So I ended up at 506. Blake’s. I lifted my knuckles to knock. Inside I could hear Blake moving around and gently humming to himself.

I took a deep breath and knocked. The humming stopped. His footsteps approached the door. The familiar hot and achy feeling welled up from my pussy. He opened up, holding a little camp lantern at chest height. He was wearing a white fitted T-shirt and plaid pyjama pants.

“Hi, Anna.” He smiled, another peace offering, always ready to forgive.

“The power’s out,” I said.

“I noticed.”

“Can I borrow a torch?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

Pillar candles peppered the living room. His place was tidy and organized–long rectangular couch, cabinet shelves, plush shag rug. It felt inviting and energetic, like this was a place to get things done.

“I think I’ve got one in the kitchen that’s good,” he said.

I followed him to the long, skinny kitchen–a mirror-image of mine. It smelled of cinnamon. Another camp lantern lit the counter. Wind beat the ivy outside the window and sent flickering shadows over the cabinets. It felt like another dream. Be quick here, or you might do something else foolish.

I stood behind Blake as he reached into the cabinet over the sink. For the first time, I noticed a crimson, comma-shaped birthmark on the back of his neck.

“You have a birthmark,” I said stupidly.

Blake stiffened like he was being arrested. “And?”


He kept his back to me. “Nothing?”

“Should it be something?” My hand reached out and brushed fingertips across it. He stepped back into my touch, close enough for my breath to stir his hair. The muscle of his neck was thick and warm.

He let out a long, exasperated breath. I froze in place, waiting for whatever he had to say. At last he turned to look at me from the corner of his eye. “I want you, Anna. If you don’t want me, stop touching me.”

My body heard him before my mind did. My heart hammered. My breath sped up and turned shallow. I ran my fingers up into his hair scalp. He leaned back into my hand and growled.

“I want you, Blake.” I pressed my body against him from behind.

“Even the size of me?” There was an edge in his voice.

“Yes! Jesus, yes. What I meant to say is men like you don’t go for girls like me.” I kissed him on the back of the neck. “I want you, Blake,” I said. My heart was pounding and my pussy was hot and soaking. “I want you so much I’m going mad.”

He turned around, pulled me close and kissed me. His beard was silky. His mouth was hot and strange and tasted like cinnamon. I reached under his shirt and scratched his back. I bit his neck gently. Pain would break the spell, and I couldn’t lose this chance. I had to have him.

He steered me against the counter. I could feel his cock grinding against the fabric at the crook of my thigh. He had one hand on the back of my head, catching my hair, pulling me back to kiss my throat. His other hand went up my shirt.

“Is this what you want?” he said.

“Yes. Please, yes.”

As he kissed me, he pushed up my bra and stroked my breasts–a forceful cup, a gentle pinch of the nipple, and a light brush across the collarbone, over and over, one breast and then the other. The pleasure was hypnotic. I ground my hips against his cock. “You’re making me crazy, Blake.”


I hooked my fingers in the waist of his pyjama pants and started working them off. They caught on his cock, and it sprang loose, heavy and slow, and pointed right at me.

“Oh my God,” I said. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re very kind.”

“Look at it.” It was wide as a shotgun and long as my hand, with a pink belt of foreskin shrouding the head. It would be substantial on any man; on Blake, it was enormous. I stroked the hot length of it, from marble shaft to velvet head. Blake groaned. “Careful with that.”

“I will be.”

I pushed him backward and sank to my knees. He was the perfect height. I yanked the pajamas to his ankles, took his cock in my hands, looked up at him and smiled. “May I?”

“Oh, shit.” He leaned back and gripped the counter behind him. I tried to freeze that moment, his wild green eyes and half-smile, his straight sharp nose and mussed hair. He was truly beautiful. If he’d never had a woman show him that properly, he was about to.

I ran a finger behind his balls. His cock flexed and a bead glistened at the tip. He made a muffled sound. I opened wide and slid my tongue down the underside of his cock until his velvet head met the back of my throat. I tightened my lips and sucked him as hard as I dared, working my tongue in circles down his shaft.

His perfect height gave me both hands free to handle him. With one I stroked and cupped and scratched his balls, running my fingers now and then down the firm vault behind them. With the other I pumped his shaft, handling his whole cock in long slick strokes, hand and mouth together. With every thrust he sighed “oh, Anna,” and his sighs were like applause. I wanted that gorgeous velvet cock driving inside me. My clit was rigid and my pussy was slippery. I was going mad.

Blake shifted against the counter. His thighs started to shake. “Anna, I’m gonna come…”

I hummed approval.

“Oh, God.” His breath caught. His cock fattened and his balls tightened. “Oh, fuck.” His knees buckled. Four sweet hot spurts shot against the back of my throat. I drank it down, polishing his cock clean.

He let his breath out with a long groan. “Anna.” He slid down the cabinets and joined me on the floor. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Cartainly not.” I lay down beside him. “I’m hoping for more.”

“I expect so.” He climbed on top of me and kissed the tender side of my neck. He was so light! I’d never been under someone less than fifteen stone. “We have to tell people,” I said. “Big girls and short men. The world needs to know.”

Blake slipped a hand between my thighs. He rubbed my clit through my panties. I pushed my hips into his touch. I was so hot for him, so close, he could have made me come right there on the kitchen floor.

“Let me wash up,” he said. “Meet you in the bedroom?”

“Yes, please.”

He adjourned to the bathroom. I picked up two candles and found his bedroom. The bed was made. The sheets were white and crisp. I took off my pyjamas and got between them. I pushed a finger around the hem of my panties to see how wet I was. My clit was burning hot and fatter than it had ever been. My panties were absolutely soaked. It was going to happen. It was finally going to happen.

Blake brought a candle with him from the bathroom. He was completely naked, and the front of his body was covered with curly golden hair. His penis was resting now, but still long and plump, and with his lean sleek muscles and narrow waist he looked like a drawing from an anatomy textbook.

“Hello,” he said.

“You are gorgeous.”

“Speak for yourself.”

He set the candle on the bedside table and slipped into bed beside me. He stroked my hair and kissed me. His mouth was minty and his fingers smelled like soap. We lay on our sides and held each other as tight as we could, kissing and petting. I felt his soft body hair all the way down, his penis against my crotch, his thighs against mine, his hot breath on my neck, his hands crossed on my back. He kissed down my neck and across my collarbone. I sighed and rolled onto my back.

“You’ve been very patient,” he said. He stroked my breasts–cup, pinch and tickle. Every nerve ending in my body came to attention. This was not his first time around. Some girl had been very lucky to find him and very foolish to let him go.

This position put my hand just under his penis, so I circled and stroked it. It fattened up with approval.

“That’s very nice,” he said.


He ran his hand down my belly and pulled off my panties slipped two fingers in the cleft of my sex. I was so wet that his touch hardly registered.

“Wow,” he said.

“You did that.”

“All apologies.” He wiped his wet fingers on his thigh to dry them. When he returned his hand, that registered. My clit was fully awake and ready for pleasure, and his touch delivered. He stroked me in big circles, firm but not too firm, treating it like a royal. “God, Blake.”

His cock was fully hard again, and I wet my hand and stroked it. His arousal amplified mine. My pleasure ramped up quickly. I was on the plateau within a minute. I was mad for his cock. I felt hungry and hollow. “I’m close.”


“I’ve got to have you inside me. I’m losing my mind.”

“Good.” He turned to the bedside table and pulled a gold foil wrapper from the drawer. “Would you?”

He held back his foreskin and I rolled the condom on. It had a good silky feel to it. The ritual of it, the calm before the storm, made my stomach flip. It was about to happen. I needed it. I was ready. I’d never been so ready.

“It’s been a while,” I said.

“Me, too.”

He stretched out, and I pulled him on top of me. He settled between my thighs again. This time I felt his cock against my naked pussy. It was electric.

He lifted himself up, and I reached down and guided his cock to my soaking sex. I licked my hand and wetted down the long underside of his shaft. The tip of his cock pressed against me. It was happening. I was shaking with longing. I grabbed his ass with both hands, and he pushed, so slowly. The tip was no trouble, but the double-barrel shotgun shaft stretched me. It was so intense I gasped. Blake froze.

“It’s all right,” I said. I worked his cock back out and in again. The stretch hit again, but less. “It’s all right. I want it. Give it to me.”

Blake pushed again. It felt like he was a mile long, like there was no end to him. I let out a long breath and pushed my hips up to meet him.

Gently he rocked out and in again. The wetness was doing its work. His cock felt right. It felt good. I groaned. “It’s wonderful.”

“You feel amazing.”

I raked my fingers through his hair. He rocked in and out. He kept his arms straight, hovering a foot above me. Not his first time. I ran my hand downward and stroked my clit as he rocked. Under my fingers it burned like a hot coal.

I made soft noises. His expression softened and his mouth opened. I got louder, making low sounds like an animal. I didn’t care.

“Harder,” I said, and Blake stroked deeper, hitting my sweet spot with every thrust. I stroked myself harder, too, ramping toward my climax, arching my back to let him plunge deeper. I rubbed my clit frantically, building pleasure, and each stroke of his cock pulled me back from the brink so the pleasure could rise higher still. I thought the climax would break, but it wouldn’t. It just went higher and higher.

“I’m coming,” I said.

A dazed expression crossed Blake’s face. His cock surged inside me. I ran my free hand through his hair. He bit my wrist. Orgasm broke over both of us. I cried out. Fuck the neighbors! Pleasure washed out my senses. I felt Blake spasm inside me, and I spasmed around him. My knees shuddered and my belly ached. Every thought and stress in my body knocked down to zed.

Blake sighed and groaned and collapsed on top of me. I wrapped my legs around him and squeezed tight. I couldn’t keep from laughing. “You’re amazing.”

“Thank you.” He kissed my cheek and bit my ear. “I wanted to do it right the first time, but I hope there’s a second time.”

And there was.

Blake in 506
Article Name
Blake in 506
This story has been submitted to the Write an Erotic story competition if you like it and think it should win Comment below and share
Jon The Nudist


This account has been made to host all of the Writing competition stories if you like the story you have just read like it, share it and tell us what you think, if you think you can do better click on the link on the banner and find out what you need to do :)

You may also like...

Blake in 506 by Sugar Stone Erotic Story Competition Story 20

by Sam time to read: 29 min
Share This

Share This

Share this post with your friends!