Sue’s After Dark Diaries Episode 31: The Morning After the Buzz
Sue’s After-Dark Diaries Episode 31:
The Morning After the Buzz
Saturday Morning, Unfortunately
Saturday arrives without asking permission.
I know this because I wake up to silence, the kind that feels temporary and suspicious, like the calm before someone sends a message they absolutely shouldn’t.
The flat is still. Too still. Benji is pressed against my leg like a warm accusation. Dan is exactly where I left him last night, pink, patient, and radiating the smug energy of someone who knows they’ve been discussed.
I stretch. I yawn. I reach for my phone.
Mistake.
Residents of Ashbury Court: 67 unread messages.
Sixty. Seven.
I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, wondering at what point adults decided that mystery was unacceptable and every unexplained noise required a committee.
I open the group.
Has anyone else heard buzzing overnight?
Mine started at around 11:40pm
I thought it was electrical?
Could be dangerous
My brother says buzzing usually means wiring
It stopped and started again
Sounded rhythmic
Is anyone else awake???
Rhythmic.
I close my eyes.
“Dan,” I say quietly, “you’re causing a public enquiry.”
He does not apologise.
Benji lifts his head, yawns dramatically, and settles back down like this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with my poor decision-making.
I scroll.
Someone has suggested calling the council.
Someone else has suggested sage.
One woman has posted three question marks and no follow-up.
Sharon has not yet contributed.
This tells me everything I need to know.
Intro…
The Morning-After Spiral Begins
By 8:17am, the speculation has escalated.
Electrical fault theory has gained traction.
Lift conspiracy theory is back.
Someone believes it’s the fire alarm “warming up.”
Warming up.
I pad into the kitchen, make coffee, and listen to the building wake up in stages, doors opening, footsteps pacing, someone dropping something metallic and swearing with commitment.
I sip my coffee slowly, barefoot, calm.
Preparedness, I’ve learned, is mostly about hydration and not engaging.
Another message appears.
I didn’t want to say anything, but it sounded like it came from Sue’s end of the corridor…
Ah. There it is.
I take another sip.
Benji looks at me like he’s waiting for instructions or a treat or absolution.
“Stay out of it,” I tell him.
He blinks. Judgementally.
I type nothing.
Sharon Goes Full Detective
At precisely 9:03am, Sharon knocks.
Not taps. Knocks.
The kind of knock that announces urgency, curiosity, and an outfit that was chosen with intention.
She sweeps in without waiting for permission.
“I knew it,” she says immediately.
“Knew what?” I ask, already tired.
“The buzz,” she says. “It’s not electrical.”
I raise an eyebrow. Sip coffee.
She paces my living room like she’s about to pin photos to a board with red string. “I stayed up,” she continues. “Listening.”
Listening.
“I opened my door. I leaned out. I triangulated.”
“You triangulated,” I repeat.
“Yes,” she says proudly. “It’s localised.”
I look at Dan.
Dan looks innocent.
“I think it’s intermittent,” Sharon continues. “Triggered by movement. Or emotion.”
“Of course it is,” I say.
She narrows her eyes. “Have you… Bought anything new recently?”
“No,” I say, because lying is a skill.
Her phone buzzes.
Maintenance scheduled for 11 am. Electrical inspection.
She gasps like she’s been vindicated by science.
“I’ll be watching,” she says, and leaves.
Benji exhales.
Maintenance Arrives (Uninvited, Obviously)
By 10:55 am, the corridor sounds like a live-action documentary about shared anxiety.
Doors open. Heads pop out. Someone whispers.
At 11:02 am, the maintenance man arrives.
High-vis vest. Clipboard. The calm confidence of a man who has no idea what he’s about to walk into.
Sharon positions herself strategically near the stairwell.
I sit on my sofa.
Calm. Neutral. Unimpressed.
There’s knocking. Doors opening. Explanations. Nods.
Then… my door.
I open it.
“Morning,” he says. “We’ve had reports of… buzzing.”
“Yes,” I say. “So I hear.”
He looks past me, scanning the flat.
Benji growls once, softly, like a bouncer who knows the rules.
“Mind if I come in?” he asks.
“Please,” I say, stepping aside, because fear is for the unprepared.
He walks in. Looks around. Silence.
Too much silence.
Dan does not move.
“Nothing obvious,” the man mutters.
Then – a sound.
Faint. Brief. Loyal.
The man pauses.
Sharon inhales sharply in the corridor.
I smile politely.
“Old phone,” I say smoothly. “Very… expressive vibration.”
He nods, writes something, and leaves.
Sharon looks disappointed.
Mark Turns Up (Because Timing)
The knock this time is different.
Not frantic.
Not investigative.
Not Sharon-shaped.
It’s unhurried. Confident. Like whoever’s on the other side knows I’ll answer, and is willing to wait while I consider pretending I’m not home.
I open the door.
Mark.
Of course it is.
He’s standing there like Saturday morning was personally designed for him, relaxed, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair doing that irritating thing where it looks accidental but absolutely perfect. He smells faintly of coffee and cold air and bad decisions I’ve already made once.
“Well,” he says, smiling slowly, eyes flicking past me into the flat, “this place looks… awake.”
“I’ve been awake since the building formed a task force,” I reply. “What do you want?”
“Truthfully?” he says. “I heard there was drama.”
I step aside.
“Come in. You’ve missed the witch trials, but the gossip’s still warm.”
He laughs as he walks in, that low, familiar sound that immediately reminds me of why Mark is a terrible idea and why I never regretted him at the time. He clocks the coffee, the calm, Benji watching him with suspicion like he’s a recurring character who hasn’t been written out yet.
“Let me guess,” Mark says, settling into the chair far too comfortably. “Something mysterious, completely harmless, and blown wildly out of proportion?”
“Welcome to Ashbury Court,” I say.“Where panic is recreational.”
He looks at me properly then. Takes me in. The bare feet. The oversized jumper. The look of a woman who survived social interaction and won.
“You look good,” he says.
I snort. “This is not effort. This is resilience.”
He grins. “That’s usually your most dangerous setting.”
I pour him coffee because I am not made of stone and because refusing would feel like admitting something. We sit. The conversation slips easily into place, work annoyances, neighbours we both judge, the universal disappointment of adulthood.
And then… because timing has a sense of humour, my phone buzzes on the table.
Mark glances at it.
Then at me.
Then smirks.
“Still popular, then?”
“It’s a group chat,” I say quickly. “A terrible one.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Ah. Digital chaos.”
“Yes. With opinions.”
He laughs, leaning back. “You thrive in that environment.”
“I endure it,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
The air shifts. Not dramatically. Just enough. That familiar pull. The memory of hallways and laughter and clothes abandoned with enthusiasm rather than planning.
Mark meets my eyes.
“So,” he says lightly, “are you behaving today?”
I hold his gaze. Take a slow sip of coffee.
“Define behaving.”
From the floor, Benji lets out a single, unimpressed huff.
Mark chuckles. “Still supervised, I see.”
“Always,” I say. “He’s very judgmental.”
We sit there, the moment stretching… not crossing lines, but absolutely toeing them. Comfortable. Dangerous. Familiar in a way that never feels safe.
Then, somewhere down the corridor, a door slams.
Reality returns.
Familiar Territory, Poor Decisions
Mark shifts closer. Not dramatically. Just enough that I’m aware of him, his warmth, presence, and history.
“This is usually the point,” he says quietly, “where one of us says we should be sensible.”
I tilt my head. “And does anyone ever mean it?”
“No,” he admits. “But we say it anyway. For balance.”
He leans in.
Slow. Unrushed. Giving me time to pull away.
I don’t.
The kiss is familiar… soft at first, then deeper, comfortable in the way only history allows. The kind that says hello again rather than what’s your name.
My hand slides into his jumper without conscious permission.
Somewhere near my feet, Benji yelps.
“—oh!”
I break away, laughing. “I stood on the dog.”
Mark freezes. “I swear that wasn’t part of the plan.”
Benji retreats dramatically, deeply wounded but not injured, glaring at us like we’ve betrayed him personally.
“Traitorous behaviour,” I mutter.
Mark laughs, forehead resting briefly against mine. “Still chaotic, then.”
“Always,” I say. “You knew that.”
The moment lingers… warm, amused, slightly breathless. Comfortable enough not to rush. Dangerous enough to remember why we keep doing this.
Eventually, we separate just enough to breathe.
Mark smiles. “Coffee first,” he says. “Then… see how the day behaves.”
I smirk. “Bold of you to assume it will.”
Benji huffs from the corner.
We ignore him.
The Floor Was a Terrible Idea (Sue Knew This)
Somewhere between coffee that turned into the second glass of wine and the realisation that the film has become nothing but background noise, things… shift.
It starts innocently enough. A look held too long. A laugh that lands closer than expected. Mark’s hand finds mine like it’s muscle memory and not a decision.
In hindsight – and by hindsight I mean the exact second it started happening, the floor was always going to be a terrible idea.
The cushions had already begun their slow migration toward the edges of the rug, like they were trying to escape. The wine glasses had been moved “temporarily” to the coffee table and promptly forgotten. The film kept playing to an empty audience, some man on screen whispering dramatically about a murder neither of us would ever solve or care about.
Mark shifts closer.
I clock it.
Allow it.
Mentally note that this is precisely how I end up with opinions I have to unpack later.
“This feels familiar,” he murmurs against my ear, voice low enough to make the small hairs on my neck stand up.
“Yes,” I say, “that’s because we’ve historically made poor decisions in horizontal positions.”
We laugh, and I snort in the process, not a good look.
Then we’re kissing in that easy, practised way that says we’ve done this before, enjoyed the admin-free nature of it, and are dangerously close to doing it again.
We roll slightly.
Then more than slightly.
A cushion escapes under my elbow.
My knee bangs the floorboard.
“Graceful,” I mutter into his mouth.
From the side table, Dan emits a low, single hum.
Not loud.
Not needy, just enough to remind me he’s here.
Like a colleague clearing his throat in a meeting he wasn’t invited to.
“Oh, don’t start,” I warn him without breaking the kiss.
He does not listen.
There’s a brief, polite buzz… the vibrator equivalent of “if you need me, I’m available.”
Mark snorts against my lips. “Is he…?”
“Yes,” I say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “He’s very supportive.”
Things warm up.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Dangerous in the way that feels safe until it isn’t.
Clothes start coming off in the quiet, unhurried way of people who already know each other’s geography.
His shirt first… buttons undone one by one with my fingers, then pushed off his shoulders so I can trace the familiar lines, the dip of his sternum, the faint trail of hair that disappears under his waistband.
He tugs my top over my head; my hair tumbles messily, half caught in the neckline, and he laughs softly as he frees it.
Jeans next – his belt buckle clinks against the floor like punctuation.
My bra clasp gives under his fingers with a practised flick.
Underwear last, slow and deliberate, his thumbs hooking under the elastic and sliding it down my thighs while I lift my hips to help.
Skin meets skin.
Warm.
Electric.
His hands roam… sliding over my ribs, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they harden under his touch.
I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in his throat.
He kisses down my neck, across my collarbone, lower… mouth closing over one nipple, tongue flicking, teeth grazing lightly.
I gasp, hips lifting instinctively.
His hand slides between my thighs, fingers parting me, finding me already wet, circling my clit with slow, teasing pressure while his mouth continues its lazy path.
Benji’s Revenge
Then, because my life is 87% slapstick timing and never goes the way it should, Benji launches himself into the situation.
Yep, straight at Mark’s leg.
No warning.
No dignity.
Benji latches on with enthusiastic, rhythmic commitment.
Hips are going like he’s trying to set a new personal best in the doggy dry-hump Olympics.
Mark freezes mid-kiss.
Looks down.
Looks at me.
Then looks back down.
“Benji,” I say in the calm, authoritative tone of someone who has zero actual control over this animal. “Not today. We have guests.”
Benji ignores me completely.
Tail wagging furiously.
Entirely too confident.
Mark tries to shake his leg gently… still half on top of me, still very much inside the moment… but Benji digs in like a furry limpet.
I start laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
Actual tears.
My stomach hurts.
“This,” I gasp between wheezes, “is why romance dies.”
Mark manages a strangled laugh, still trying to remove the dog without dislodging us. This could only happen to me.
Benji, perhaps sensing he’s won this round, suddenly releases Mark’s leg, grabs something from the floor (Mark’s discarded boxers, naturally), and trots off triumphantly toward his bed in the corner.
He drags the fabric behind him like a victory flag, tail high, completely unbothered by the two naked humans he’s just cockblocked.
We both watch him go.
Benji flops onto his bed, turns his back to us, and begins chewing the boxers like they’re a hard-won trophy.
Mark looks at me.
I look at him.
“What is it with your dog and my boxers?” he says.
“They obviously do it for him,” I reply.
We collapse into helpless, breathless laughter, our bodies still pressed together, skin still flushed, the moment somehow even hotter for being interrupted so absurdly.
“Priorities,” Mark says, wiping his eyes.
“He’s got none,” I reply, still giggling.
The laughter fades slowly.
Dan gets involved
Eyes meet again.
Darker now.
He shifts above me.
Settles between my thighs.
Reaches for Dan without asking – switches him on low, the familiar hum filling the room like an old friend who’s finally been invited back in.
He presses Dan between us first, letting the vibrations travel from my clit through both of us.
I gasp at the sudden intensity.
He smiles against my mouth… wicked, knowing.
Then he lines himself up.
Looks down at me with that look that says he remembers every single time we’ve done this and still wants more.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmurs.
“I won’t,” I whisper back.
He enters me slowly.
Inch by inch.
“Stretching me open. Good job, my cardio’s up to date.”
I moan low, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out. Call it Sue revenge.
The rhythm starts gently.
Deep, rolling thrusts that make my toes curl – and there’s the rug burn.
Dan buzzes steadily against my clit the whole time… relentless, perfect.
I arch up to meet him, hips rocking, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Faster.
Harder.
His mouth finds mine again.
I clench around him on every upstroke, drawing a groan from deep in his chest.
I knew Pilates would pay off.
The build is fast.
Too fast.
I come first… hard, sudden, clenching around him in pulsing waves, crying out into his shoulder as the orgasm rips through me.
He follows seconds later – hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he spills inside me with a low, broken sound of my name.
We stay like that for a long moment.
Breath ragged.
Our bodies are hot and sticky even though it’s only 4 degrees outside.
Dan finally switches off and lies on the rug… a loyal sidekick who’s earned his rest.
He rolls off me but pulls me with him, tucking me against his chest.
I listen to his heartbeat slow.
Benji has gone quiet in his bed.
Probably smug.
Mark kisses the top of my head.
“Still chaotic,” he murmurs.
“Still worth it,” I reply.
And for once, I don’t argue with myself.
He laughs, kisses my temple. “Worth it.”
The phone buzzes again.
“Does anyone hear that buzzing? I heard it again.” I smirk, knowing…
“Let them triangulate that.
Some mysteries are better left unsolved – especially for the residents of Ashbury Court.”
Let yourself be carried away into the exciting world of sex swings. Give into the enchantment of the romance, passion, and deep sensuality that come with celebrating your love together. Surrender to the unique feeling of deep intimacy through shared peaks of passion.
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📧 Drop Me a Line, You Naughty Wanderers…
Hey, my deliciously daring darlings… I can practically feel the secrets tingling between your toes. That midnight tiptoe across a hotel carpet, the sly brush of an ankle under the dinner table, the time your feet led you straight into trouble, and you loved every scandalous second.
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