"HAH! YEA! YEA! HARDER! FUCK ME STUD! FUCK MY PUSSY! YEA! YEA!"

 

Morgan was desperately mashing a pillow over her head in a vain attempt to dampen the thunderous rutting coming from next door. The paper-thin walls of her shitty, over-priced, mismanaged apartment put her in the front row seat of the soundscape of her neighbour's carnal concert.

 

At 3 am.

 

For the third night in a row.

 

Her impotent impacts against the adjoining wall ended up drowned by the guttural grunts, soprano squeals, and bouncing bed-frame of the marathon sex sessions that had been taking place every weekend since he moved in.

 

Abandoning her percussive reprimands, Morgan slunk back under the protection of her cushions, defeated.

 

"I have to do something about this."

 

 

Matt looked on with delight at the disheveled, stumbling, weak-legged babe labouriously making her way to the Uber he'd ordered for her. He certainly prided himself at the pornstar-level of his sexual prowess. If there were fuck-lympics, he'd for sure take home bronze, silver, and gold!

 

He took another sip of his exclusive Ed Hardy "Celebrity" energy drink to re-hydrate. "Nothing but the best," he thought to himself.

 

The weirdo woke lesbian witch next door even joined in for some encouragement, banging on the gyprock for attention. Heh! She probably could use a good dicking. Not his style though. Never stick your wee-wee in crazy.

 

Downing the last of his drink as he tinkled an ochre torrent, Matt finally made it back to his chambers. A faint sound caused him to momentarily pause, seeking its source. Some sort of new-age-y, meditation-y, bull-shit-y music was coming through the wall, barely audible.

 

Whatever.

 

He promptly passed out without bothering to get under the bed sheets.

 

 

When Matt woke up, he found himself lying in a sticky, cold, wet puddle.

 

"Wow," he thought, "I haven't had a wet dream this good in a while!"

 

Putting it out of his mind, he got himself ready for work. It might be daddy's firm, but he nonetheless had to be professional. His father had insisted that he'd put in the time working "down in the trenches", to gain an appreciation for the real hard work that took place there. He didn't want to brag to his dad yet, but things had been going pretty good. It was still his first month, yet he'd made several suggestions that reduced downtime by 16%! His supervisors had started joking that they'd soon be the ones calling him "sir", as he was on the fast track for a promotion. That didn't surprise him, success had always come easily to the boy.

 

He was extra distracted today though. His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the female forms camouflaged under the conservative outfits of his coworkers. Even the girls that typically did nothing for him captured his eye, while the ones that usually got him going, drove him wild! He really wished he wouldn't have to wait until Friday to get laid, but he'd promised dad "no drinking during the work week", and he was already on strike two.

 

Every night, that lame hippie music kept playing, gently permeating his room. He didn't mind though, it actually helped him fall asleep, rocking him softly into slumber.

 

Every morning, he woke up covered in his own cum, and spent the day getting hornier and hornier.

 

When Five o'clock Friday finally rolled out, he couldn't wait to reach the local uni bar: his old hunting grounds. He'd graduated not too long ago, but found himself returning there more and more. The chicks were as attractive as ever, and easy pickings.

 

His chiseled chin combined with his cocksure confidence opened the way, while the 3,000$ Armani suit and gold Rolex set him apart from the broke losers competing for attention. A killer combo.

 

But, to Matt, it was his reputation that he regarded as his ultimate weapon in romantic conquest. The ladies knew they were in for a spectacular porking of epic proportions when they left the pub with him.

 

Tonight, his over-eagerness made his approach less than smooth, but he nevertheless soon found himself fondling a fervent filly in the back of the ride back home.

 

Reaching his bedroom, Matt quickly told his date (he'd already forgotten her name) to ignore the shitty music of the weird witch next door.

 

Seeing as his bulge was unbearably ballooning, he decided to drop the foreplay and his boxers in one fell swoop. Tossing the girl on the mattress, he pounced, positioning himself for the best four hour pounding of her life. Worryingly, barely two minutes in, Matt had to keep slowing down, pausing even, to keep from going over the edge. And when the lass wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him in deeper, he let out a wretched whimper before erupting explosively inside her.

 

She was still blathering bristly when his consciousness faded away, fast asleep.

 

 

The rest of Matt's weekend played out similarly to that awful night. Bringing a hot college chick home, getting ready to bang her for hours, abruptly getting overexcited, a quick convulsive climax, and struggling to stay awake for any length of time afterwards.

 

The ladies each left without further ado, bemused and unsatisfied. Well, one of them did seemingly take 100$ out of his wallet while he was passed out, as he rudely found out a couple of days later.

 

Settling back into his work routine, Matt got worried about his, so far, irreproachable reputation. Would word get around of his lacklustre lovemaking? Surely such a slight, assuredly short-lived, stain shouldn't spread that speedily?

 

He resolved to take matters in his own hands from now on, before any other opportunity for a cock-up materialised, masturbating multiple times a day for regular relief. However, his attempts, no matter how arduous, proved peculiarly pointless.

 

Each of his effort ended rapidly and mediocrily, leaving him feeling restless, wired. It was like that one time he accidentally pulled out right before cuming, and the chick wouldn't let him just put it back in. It left him feeling unsatisfied, unfulfilled.

 

When Friday came back around, Matt returned, with dread, to his Alma Mater's watering hole. All evening he kept striking out, getting shut down at every corner, from every angle. "I already have a boyfriend." "Just hanging out with my besties tonight." "I'm a lesbian." "I have to go to work early." "I've got a cold coming, cough, cough." "I'm a Libra, we wouldn't work out." "I'm feeling allergic to your cologne." "My friend just had a bad breakup." "It's my time of the month." "I'm looking for something serious right now." "I have a PAP tomorrow..."

 

Walking away, tail between his legs, Matt soon heard it. The SnIckERinG. For the rest of the night, it harried him, haunted him.

 

He decided to take a break from going out for the next couple of days.

 

Instead, he poured his energy into contacting some of his past conquests on the Grams. And masturbating. Checking their profiles, jerking off... Watching their stories, rubbing one out... Reacting to their posts, jacking it... Rizzing, wanking...

 

But all his smooth talking kept getting interrupted by the most obnoxious, loud, intrusive ads!

 

CAN'T LAST MORE THAN 2 MINUTES? TRY T... Skip.

 

LEFT HER UNSATISFIED? YOU N... Gah! Skip!

 

WANT TO KEEP IT UP? FOLL... Skip! Skip!

 

ARE ALL THE GIRLS LAUGHING BEHIND YOUR BACK? HER... Argh! S!K!I!P!P! SKIP!

 

Matt threw his phone on the bed in frustration! Infuriated by the insultingly insinuating targeted advertisement, he cocked his arm, ready to scream and punch through the wall! But just then, he noticed the soft, serene, relaxation music coming from his neighbour's room... When did she start playing it during the day? It seemed to... mellow him out... He liked the music, it felt... comforting?

 

He slid back onto the bed and into some more DMs. The increasingly frequent commercials were just as needling, but, somehow, he didn't have another angry outburst. He just stewed in the implied inadequacy.

 

 

The pestering popups followed Matt into work, growing bolder, unskippable, compelling.

 

Giving in to the nagging curiosity to follow the offending offers brought him to a sleek website. It was selling some sort of audio recordings that were supposed to help men last longer in bed. Pffft! What a scam!

 

What an expensive scam! Holy shit! Some of those files sold for twelve hundred bucks! For 11 minutes! What kind of stupid sap would...

 

One of the mp3s was on sale right now, just 9.99 Wow... That was a good discount.

 

He felt conflicted. Was he seriously considering his condition needed such drastic action? Was he actually going to spend a bunch of his hard-earned cash on this questionable quackery?

 

A timer appeared on screen, a reminder that this offer would soon expire.

 

4:38

 

Seconds ticked away...

 

4:23

 

Remaining... 

 

4:14

 

...

 

Matt pushed in his earbuds as he laid down to listen to his new purchase.

 

The file started playing and a deep sounding, soothing woman instructed him to take a deep breath.

 

He found his consciousness fading away, fast.

 

There was something familiar about that voice...

 

That music...

 

Something...

 

Comforting...