It's a good thing the next day is Saturday, because Valentina spends all night in a fugue, cycling from one activity to the next.

First, she tidies away numerous piles of junk--boxes she never broke down, trash she never threw out--then masturbates against the shaking dryer until it's time to hang up her clothes. Next, she scrubs the surfaces in the kitchen. As she stares out the window over the kitchen sink that overlooks the dark apartment courtyard, she wonders if anyone would be awake to notice if she shoved her breasts against the glass.

That heated thought leads to her splaying on the couch and reading dirty League of Legends comics on her tablet. There's a new one from a Korean artist she follows. Finally, once her sheets are clean, she makes her bed and lays down with her propped-up phone playing low-res BDSM porn with the volume low.

The white noise machine accompanies her through all of it, though the sound only occasionally draws her attention back to it with a bright burst of birdsong, or words that linger just on the wrong side of recognizable. As sleep takes hold, the café voices become almost legible. She tries to trace the lines of them, but the single thing she parses before a stretch of overheated dreams is that the voices are talking about her.

* * *

Mell strides through Valentina's apartment with business-like efficiency, a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. She nudges the stack of trash bags by the door and notes the number, then enters the kitchen and traces one long finger over the counter in search of stickiness or smudges. When she doesn't find any, she smiles and marks a check on the paper.

Her steps are careful and precise as she inspects the apartment, but she makes no attempts at stealth. Regardless, Valentina doesn't stir, even when Mell bends over her and picks up her faintly glowing phone. She chuckles at the video on the screen, presses the Power button to lock it, and sets it back facedown.

"You're doing so well," she says, her fingertips resting like a butterfly on Valentina's flushed and freckled cheek.

Valentina, still sleeping, furrows her brow and pulls away from the light touch. Rather than pursue, Mell takes more notes as Valentina rolls over onto her side and shifts her legs apart. That makes Mell cover her mouth with one hand to suppress a gentle snicker.

She doesn't stay for much longer, pausing only to link her phone with a cord to the white noise generator. It takes a few minutes to download the evening's data from the device, but she's happy to wait. The information transferring over will give her plenty to review in the light of day.

That done, she heads back to the living room, lit only by the output of distant street lights past the shared backyard space. Valentina's none the wiser as Mell exits the way she came in: through the sliding backdoor, which she locks after her with one of the many keys she keeps on a silver ring.

* * *

Valentina thought that sleep would drain some of the heat out of her flesh, but she wakes up panting and shivering, not from cold but from the tingles running up and down her body.

Her dream was... her dream was... something sexual? That has to be the case. She just woke up, so shouldn't she be able to remember? But there's only the sense that she had been pinned down like a butterfly on a lepidopterist's display board, and that something or someone was examining her while she couldn't move.

"Ghh."

Even the unclear dredges of the memory make her shudder with arousal all over again. Her thighs are drenched from the wetness that's leaked out of her overnight. She's going to have to shower again already. Shifting to her side, she starts to roll out of bed but stops mid-swing of her body when she realizes she has something inside her.

"When the fuck did I...?" She mutters it as she returns to her position on her back and reaches between her legs. Yeah, she has a dildo in the bedside table drawer, but she hasn't pulled it out in ages, favoring the direct and uncomplicated vibrations of her Hitachi. When she's solo, it's just easier to blast her clit until she cums.

She bites her lip as she grabs the flared base of the dildo. Her body feels too sensitive as she pulls it out, the three large ridges on it each bumping and stretching her hole as they exit.

"Hngh."

Once the toy is safely in her hands and not tormenting her anymore, she exhales and holds it up to examine it. It's a girthy black silicone one she purchased ages ago for an ex who liked to strap, but the toy never fit comfortably, and the relationship fizzled out soon after. With little motivation to practice, she'd given up on using it.

Now, she's gone and shoved it into herself while she was asleep, and instead of any discomfort she feels like it satisfied her? On what planet? Scowling, she gets up with the dildo clenched tight in her fist.

"Bullshit. Something's off. This is--"

A thunder strike cuts her off, startling her. Not that she checks the weather often, but it didn't look like rain when she talked to Mell yesterday.

The sound melts away, and as she picks up the patter of rainfall, crickets, and whispering, she realizes it was just the white noise generator. Obviously, she left it on when she fell asleep. The lightning sounds it played last night were mostly far away, but one or two of them were set to sound close enough to be outside her apartment.

She stomps over to the nook that her washing machine and dryer sit in and presses the button on top of the noise generator as directed--three seconds. Like someone has come in and neatly swept the identifiable sounds aside, it transitions into static, thrumming, rustling, thumping wordlessness. There's a surprising amount of bass to it, for such a small device.

It's soothing.

"At least you're good at your job," she says before turning to take a shower.

The walls in this apartment complex might be cheap, but the bathroom was one place they spent money on materials. It's attached to her bedroom, the wall's running parallel to Mell's apartment. Although she needs to clean in here too, the grayish marble counter top and sandy speckled stone floor tiles do a lot to hide the dust, stains, and stray hair. The duo shower and tub are large enough for soaking, even if she's more of a quick shower kind of a girl.

It takes some time to warm up, so she bends over and turns the water on. Almost as if by magic, the weight in her other hand reasserts itself.

She's still carrying the stupid dildo.

"Ugh," she says, "guess I need to clean it anyway."

The flared base of it is designed like a suction cup, so she wets the base and sticks it to stand up next to her bottle of shampoo at the edge of the tub. That way, it won't roll away and spread pussy residue everywhere before she can get to it.

She catches herself looking at it and turns away pointedly toward the bathroom sink.

By the time she's done with the rest of her morning business, the bathroom is steamy. Her teeth feel squeaky clean, getting brushed and flossed twice in twenty-four hours for the first time in a while. It hadn't seemed important lately, considering how little she sees anyone, but now that she has a nosy, hot neighbor...

Why do I care so much?

She stands under the shower head and lets the water spray down her front, keeping her hair out it, since it won't be time for another wash for several days. Her eyes lose focus for a moment. The water droplets seem to trace constellations between the many dark freckles on her body, even if she's not the type to see patterns in the stars. She'd rather stick to a binary. Give her a piece of code, no matter how messy, and she can find its truths, its certainties. The real world is often just as simple, a yes or a no.

Which means what, exactly?

She runs her hands down the front of her body. The breasts are a yes, the pooched stomach dotted with whispy hairs is a no. Hips, no; legs, yes; hair, no; face, yes, if you ignored the freckles. Her overall self? Also a no--she's good at her job, gaming, and arguing with strangers about their video game opinions online, but most of that still puts her solidly in the "Loser" category. And, if she'd been asked yesterday morning, and she would have said hookups and relationships were a no too.

Is she allowed to change? Can she say yes? She wants to.

Maybe she could throw herself at Mell's feet, ask her if she's into losers. That would probably end with her getting rejected so hard she'd have trouble showing her face again, but what if? She might like that feeling.

Years ago, one of her high-school bullies stole her worn-out bra while they were changing for gym. She mockingly held it over her chest to show the difference in size and called Valentina a fat cow with big udders. At the time, Valentina had snatched it back and gone on with her day, but that night, she'd masturbated furiously to the memory of the girl's voice, her hands on such an intimate garment, the shame as everyone laughed.

"Yes," she says, experimentally.

It doesn't change anything, but it feels good to say. It's what she'd say if anyone asked to fuck her right now--god, she's so horny, and she actually feels kind of sexy for the first time in a long time. She leans against the wall of the shower, playing her fingers over her mound before teasing at her clit.

"Yes," she sighs, more liquid this time. Her hips seem to move without her bidding, naturally finding the dildo where it's stuck to the wall of the shower. She's not apprehensive as she lines herself up with it. Rather, she needs it, and knows her body will accept it readily again.

"Yes, yes, yes," she hisses as she sinks onto the toy. When she starts moving, the worries and thoughts seem to drip out of her as if each push of her hips is someone squeezing her like a tube of toothpaste.

But when did the damn dildo move from the edge of the tub to the wall, just at the right height for her to use it?

"What's happening to me?" she moans. Wasn't she upset earlier? Shouldn't she be upset now, instead of getting more turned on?

Faintly, she thinks she can hear laughter from the other side of the wall, but it could just be the memory of that bully ringing in her ears.

* * *

After screaming her way to orgasm in the shower (a sound that she seriously doubts the running water masked), the heat inside Valentina seems to subside. Relieved, she gets on with the rest of her weekend.

Oatmeal for breakfast, a couple of hours of Apex, then the urge to do more cleaning strikes. That's weird, but she said yes to changing, didn't she? Besides, if her place is clean, she won't be so embarrassed the next time she has someone inside. If she sees Gabriel around the complex, they could go for more than one round next time. If he's interested, that is.

He seemed to be, right? she thinks. It's weird how little they talked, but that probably kept her from putting her foot in her mouth. She should be grateful.

Morning bleeds into afternoon. She's in the middle of scrubbing her bathroom from top to bottom when she gets a text from the apartment's main office telling her a package she was waiting for has been delivered and to please come pick it up before the office is closed until Monday.

"Hell yes," she tells her phone screen. She'd scored a good deal on a top-of-the-line graphics card, but it was on back order, so she forgot it was even coming. "Guess I need to put on something decent."

Going to the office means there will be Human Interaction, so the tank top and pajama pants look isn't going to cut it.

* * *

Wearing a push-up bra just to get a package honestly feels ridiculous now that she's doing it, but it's too late to turn back.

She does look good, the low-cut top over the bra hugging her cleavage exactly how she hoped, but still. The jeans she grabbed are also hugging her hips, which she likes less, but they felt right when she slipped them on. She even did a few poses in the mirror and fluffed her hair up, thinking that--just maybe--she was pretty cute.

Hard to feel as confident in the glaring light outside, where she's too aware of her flaws. Her freckles are highlighted, and she starts to sweat so easily. A surly frown overtakes her face as she navigates the hot sidewalk past the pool where noisy people who probably don't even live here are enjoying the water. There's a fence, but it's low, and they get lots of trespassers.

Do they have to be so damn loud?

The frown remains on her face as she walks into the small building that includes the mailboxes for letters, the main office, and an attached gym with a handful of machines. She has never entered the gym area and never will. It's usually empty due to the amount of equipment, and that's the same today.

She walks into the main office and squints as her eyes adjust. The back wall of the office is mainly windows that face the pool, though the blinds are slit against the afternoon sun. It's Saturday, so it's an unlucky assistant property managers sitting at one of the desks, not the head property manager. He rarely shows his face, and on a Saturday? Perish the thought.

Valentina thinks the middle-aged brunette assistant typing at her laptop is named Shari, based on their brief interactions in the past, but if her life was on the line, she'd say: "Pass. Give me another question."

In reality, she says, "I got the message about my package."

Maybe-Shari turns away from her computer screen and smiles. "Hi hon, how are you?"

"My package?" She doesn't understand why how she's doing matters, and she's nobody's hon. Do I look like I'm twelve or something? Come on.

"Oh yes, Tina Torres in 102, I've got it right here." She stands, then crouches behind the small service counter that blocks the office desks from just anyone walking in.

"It's Valentina, thanks," she says, not willing to allow even a "Val" for this woman now. They have become enemies.

Shari laughs breezily as she stands back up, the package in her hand.

"Sorry about that. Valentina, then. I'll remember." She passes over the package, but when Valentina takes it, Shari grips her wrist with gentle fingers. "Forgive me?"

"Huh? Er, fine," Valentina rushes to say, her cheeks blooming red underneath her freckles.

This is not how it's supposed to go. Rather, the person she snaps at should realize she's not worth bothering with and file her away as best avoided. That's what she would do. There should be no warm thumb stroking at the inside of her wrist.

"That's good. I really didn't mean anything by it." Shari's other hand enters the equation, running over the top of her arm.

"I, uh, I need to..." Valentina stumbles over her words, uncertain. Go, she should say. Her arms are covered in gooseflesh from the other woman's touch.

"You need?" Shari's lips curl into a knowing smile. She tucks some of her long brown hair behind her ear and leans closer. Valentina stares at her with wide eyes, really taking her in for the first time. She's perfectly normal, more cute than beautiful, mid-thirties, and probably somebody's wife or girlfriend or mom, but--

"I need...you...to fuck me."

"That's what I thought." Shari's voice is so kind and understanding.

Like a warm blanket, the dreamy atmosphere from Valentina's encounter with Gabriel drapes over her once again. She moves behind the counter toward Shari, and without the separation, their mouths are drawn together like magnets. Valentina sighs as their chests push against one another's, the friction emphasizing the confinement of her push-up bra.

What she's doing is insane, but she wants to, and she will, and she feels sexy enough to get away with it, somehow.

Shari seems to agree. With a firm grip around Valentina’s wrist, she pulls her onto the office carpet and out of the view of the front or back windows, though anyone could walk in and look over the counter to see them entwined, Valentina on top though by no means in control.

As if she knows how tight Valentina's bra has become, Shari reaches under her shirt to unhook it right away, then tugs her top over her head and down her shoulders. Valentina sits back so she can strip them off the rest of the way, then returns, her breasts hanging loose between them.

"They must be so heavy," Shari says as she sinks her fingers into the soft skin. In defiance of gravity, she pushes them up until they're firm and round again.

"Y-Yeah, it's kind of a pain," Valentina admits.

"Poor baby," Shari coos, in a way that Valentina might peg as sarcasm in conversation, but right now it seems like she can trust nothing more than this woman's affection. Shari's hands knead at her so kindly, like she's trying to soothe an ache, then a little more aggressively as Valentina’s nipples harden for her. That makes Valentina drop her hips and grind them against hers.

"Let me--" Valentina starts.

"You have what I need, don't you?" Shari cuts her off, that knowing smile back on her face.

It should be infuriating, but instead she melts from the weight of it. The two of them shift places as smoothly as pouring olive oil, until Valentina is the one on her back.

"In your bag?" Shari asks. Her hand on Valentina's stomach may as well be a brand for how hot it makes her feel.

Valentina tightens her pussy, and admits to something she hadn't even admitted to herself. "No, it's... inside me."

Shari's eyes brighten at that, and she traces her fingers to the hem of her jeans. "Dirty girl."

Valentina closes her eyes and nods at that, certain that it's true now--that it's always been true.

Words fall away after that. Shari strips Valentina of her jeans and finds the dildo that seems impossible to escape buried inside her. The flared base is as easily gripped as it is held in a harness or suctioned to a shower wall. Shari does not need an explanation for what to do with it, and as the hem of her sensible purple sundress tickles Valentina's cheeks, she starts thrusting the toy in and out of her.

Valentina moans and holds onto Shari's thighs, losing herself in motion that's so much better when someone else is in control of it (of her). It hardly takes any time at all for her to orgasm, but Shari only slows the toy, doesn't stop it, forcing her to swallow and gasp as her toes curl. Valentina is considering asking her to pause when Shari drops her hips onto her face.

"Lick me," she orders, and Valentina quickly reaches for her panties. Of course, she ought to take care of her too. There's no need to be selfish. She's never sixty-nined before, but it's just eating pussy from a different angle, right? All she has to do is try.

Shari seems to approve of her efforts as she licks and sucks at her clit, because the speed of the dildo picks up again. A dizzy feeling overtakes Valentina as she orgasm once more--too soon--but she keeps her tongue sliding against Shari's folds. Maybe it makes the other woman curious, as she soon bends down to lick at Valentina’s swollen clit, sending off sparks behind her eyes.

Something shifts, then, as Valentina blinks away the fireworks. The light coming in from the windows is darker, and she's on her hands and knees.

Is it... later...?

Someone is fucking her from behind. There are voices in the room, and the hands on her hips and the heavy breathing behind her are much more masculine than before.

"Sh-Shari?" she asks, her head muggy.

The woman peers over from where she's standing on the other side of the counter. "Up here, hon. And it's Sharon, you know!" she says with a little laugh.

"Sorry," Valentina mumbles, dropping her head in embarrassment, though it's hard to feel anything beyond pleasure as the cock inside her picks up the pace.

Sharon doesn't seem to mind, as she fluidly resumes her conversation with one of the other voices. Valentina struggles to focus on it, but it seems important to try.

"Yeah... fine if... some friends, she... more than... at once," Sharon tells the stranger.

Dully, it occurs to Valentina that she's extra slick inside, like someone's cum is already leaking out of her. And is the cock inside her ass? Or is that the toy?

Sharon's still talking, but Valentina can barely keep her eyes open. She drops her cheek against the floor, only aware long enough to feel a puddle of drool forming against the corner of her mouth.