There are thumps, and there are grunts. Banging shit around. One would think that there is a gimp up there, some poor soul bound and gagged, getting a fistful in his ass every thirty seconds or so. The moans seem right at home with a studded paddle meeting stretched leather.

However, after much thought and tireless deliberation, it has been determined that a much greater force is at work. The master is actually the slave. This sad sack of shit is betting the farm, night in and night out. Wagering rent checks and hedging bets based on the ever fickle spread.

The results are nothing short of sheer horror. So twisted is this fuck, that he throws himself to the ground, beats his belly red, and cries out like a mother realizing that her breasts are dry,

This is what happens in the apartment above me.